Summers and Sacala: Letters from Abroad
by Adelynn
Summary: A unique rendition of the Letter Game based on the format of Sorcery and Cecilia, following friends Addie and Gwen through their adventures in Sacala and York. Read their accounts of a summer full of charm and mystery, and please honor them with a review
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: _**

**_The story below is written by S.S.S and K.H., and is based on an idea implemented by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer, which involves writing letters to one another under assumed characters, and, essentially, seeing where written make-believe can take you. Outside of the general format, and a few similar phrases penned in mechanically, this story is entirely original, and the characters are unique. Since they have never been written about anywhere else, S.S.S and K.H. implore that their characters remain within the parameters of this page. That being said, please read and review!_**

**_Thank you,_**

**_S.S.S., K.H._**

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**_We are afraid that due to a lack of reviews that no new chapters will be posted for some time. Ideally, we would prefer that at least four reviews go up before the next chapter is posted._**

**_Best,_**

**S.S.S., K.H. **

_**Because of your reviews FlamingQuill, we have decided to continue posting. Knowing that we have captured the attention of even one reader is enough for us. Thank you! For anyone else who may be reading this story, we would really appreciate your response as well. The next chapter will probably be available next week. **_

**_Regards,_**

**_S.S.S., K.H._**

**_Summers & Sacala_**

**_Letters from Abroad_**

Written by Adamine Rus and Gwendolyn Summers,

_Transmitted by S.S.S. and K.H._

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V, May

Dear Gwen,

Now, what shall I say? It was your suggestion that we write to each other this summer, so that no tale of our exploits goes unaccounted for. And I was quite in agreement with you at the time. Although, I must say it was rather daft of you to put a memory charm on my brass-tipped quill pen. Now it screeches a reminder every time I go a day or two without touching it to scroll. How am I to explain to Grandmama why there is a constant want for paper in the house? Heaven forbid it, but I'll be using the privy's supply next, just to meet the demands of your hefty curse.

Now that I am quite done complaining—well, at least about my first point—I am compelled to tell you that nothing stirring, against all your assurances, has occurred since I've arrived in Sacala. Grandmama is still on her dustbed and Sanders—in spite of having added a fair amount to his height—has not grown out of his boyish tomfoolery, and promises to be as unbearable as ever.

Dearest Gwen, Grandmama has not bothered to rise from her dustbed once this entire week. Though, really, why should she inconvenience herself when she has a granddaughter, born into life for to wait on her every whim? But not to worry! What she lacks in physical movement, she more than makes up for in vocal expression—much of what begins with "Adamine" and ends with yet another meticulous task that I am to fuss over in her place. I am beginning to fear that her only objective this summer will be to order me about, and without any existing engagements of my own, I must grudgingly assume the role of personal servant—which would be quite alright, if only Grandmama would add a bit more to the conversation.

If only the matter of Grandmama's sour disposition were my sole concern. Regrettably, as I am the only one of our group to summer in Sacala this year, I will be alone in dealing with the other nuisance I mentioned earlier.

Until last week, Gwen, I was sure that you and I had secured the title of town hooligans, but Sanders is determined to give us a run for our money. Just last Thursday, he managed to steal three of Mrs. Ogden's prized chickens right from under her glaring eye—though, considering that her mouth was probably busily delivering hearsay at the time, I can see how the mission mayn't have been too hard for even Sanders to manage. If only he had stopped there, I may have decided there is hope for him yet—but he soon made it clear that our antagonism is to continue for yet another summer.

So—what do you suppose the scut decided to do with his newly stolen conquests when Mrs. Ogden's three burly sons hustled through town looking for the culprit? Why, dump them on Grandmama's front porch—where they could leave quite a few unwanted presents—of course! Unfortunately, I happened to arrive on site just in time to be the only one to witness Sanders' quick departure into Codomarc—and was left having to spend the entire morning explaining to Paul, Raul, and Saul how the chickens had happened to stride along the dirt-paved road, across the skinny bridge leading to the natural spring, and through the huge fence Grandmama insisted on having built last summer, to roam happily on our stoned steps ("well—perhaps they fancied a stroll," I ventured a joke). Luckily, those three were never very smart. The difficult part came later when I had to explain it all over again to Grandmama. She wasn't as content with buying my "load of hogwash"…though she wouldn't have taken kindly to the truth, either, being a one to hastily identify—and oftentimes misidentify—a falsehood. Between Her Excellency and Sanders, I may just have to retreat into the Black Forest if I want any peace from the insanity I'm sure to experience this summer.

So I now have an extra week of wish-it-were-anything-but-this rounds of taking the contents of our overfilled privy to become fertilizer for Grandmama's vegetable garden. Your letters may just be my only consolation to a summer of pure slavery and boredom. Thus, I must thank you for your suggestion to exchange written words and admit that you are once again in the right, though I could have done without the memory charm.

I implore you to describe to me all that you are seeing on your journey, to the smallest detail, so that I may be able to live the experience through your words. I also beseech you to tell me all about Cassie's condition. I know that you will watch over my sister as your father's Healers attend to her. But do not feel that you have to give up your entire holiday on her behalf. You deserve to enjoy yourself, and Cassie will have your young cousins to keep her company when she is up to it.

Send my greetings to your family, and my love to Cassie. And try not to let York's nobility fluster you.

I await your response.

Your friend,

Addie

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VII, May

Dear Addie,

I amsorry about having to put the memory charm on your quill, but you don't understand how desperately lonely I would feel without hearing from you for such a long time. I was so glad to get your letter because I'm afraid that traveling with Great Aunt Beatrice would try the patience of a saint! – and one thing I have hardly achieved is sainthood.

My initial excitement of taking the hundred-mile journey to York has quickly faded under a barrage of commands, all related my hat or shade. I feel like a ship, raising and lowering sails, being told to put up a shade or take down an umbrella. I expect to hear "Hard to the starboard" any day now. And, for once I wish Margaret were here. Though an older sister is an inconvenience, it is one preferred to my aunt. Instead, her presentation this season has spared her these ordeals. I keep thinking to myself, if she had waited just a month more, Mama could have been chaperone for the trip instead.

Thankfully, I am still having lessons, though I feel for Mr. Chalmers. He now must to teach me Latin on top of French and Romanian (yet there is no time for magic) under Aunt's glaring eye. However, as Papa always said, it's an ill wind that blows no good. All of Aunt Beatrice's fussing does mean that Cassie is well cared for, and not overly tired out, as the party moves according to Aunt's whims, which would make a three-legged turtle appear fast.

Yet, I should move on to a more cheerful topic. The fresh air does seem to be doing Cassie some good (maybe all of the smoke and dust in London were part of what ailed her). Her cheeks are not as pale and she does have a slightly better appetite than she did before. As you already know, once we arrive at Papa's estates, the healers will have time to take a look at her. Hopefully, their new perspective and the change in scenery will help her condition.

But, I doubt that the change in scenery will help my health very much at all, as I've just learned that the dreadful Hardbottle brothers will be visiting their neighboring estates for the whole summer (along with their mother)! Perhaps now would be the time to begin looking into hexes…

As for your adventures…well, for Sanders being the town hooligan - banish the thought from your mind! We most certainly were the most dreadful pair when we visited last summer - Sanders is the town idiot, though the Harbottle brothers might be even denser (if possible).

Addie - I must go. Aunt Beatrice calls (eight o'clock and time for bed!). If I hurry, I'll be able to give the letter to Lightning. Please let him rest for a day or so with you and remember to anoint his wings with a speed potion or he'll take weeks getting back to me. Don't let your grandmother get you down - you've been in many more trying situations and have always managed to persevere. Hopefully, by the time you get this letter, she will have decided to get out of bed for the summer festival, as you know her desire to play matchmaker will overcome her "serious condition." Oh, and could you send me the recipe for your charm for sunburn? Cassie and I have both become a little burnt and Aunt Beatrice's lotion is not helping. Also, please tell me when the charm on you quill wears off, as I want to see how long it lasts. I'm anxiously awaiting your next letter.

Your friend,

Gwen


	2. Chapter 2

IX, May

Dear Gwen,

Lightning arrived with your duck quill earlier today. I was overcome with delight, seeing as it was proof that you had, indeed, received my letter. I had to borrow Alin's Carrier Pigeon to send it to you, and I was dreadfully afraid that the poor animal wouldn't make it. Alin was hesitant enough about letting me borrow Coco. I finally convinced him by threatening to spill about a certain meeting of his and Lisabeth Perde's at last year's Festival—but I'm sure he would have promptly refused should he have known I was sending Coco on so long a flight.

I used my strongest speed and strength potions on Coco's wings, in hopes that the scrawny bird wouldn't faint with exhaustion before reaching the safety of your carriage. Coco still hasn't come back; I'm sure he is, even now, recuperating in your care. And you mustn't worry about Lightning; he is far stronger and would probably reach you in ample time even without my potions. Anyway, it's about time that I ask Mrs. Ogden to sell me a Carrier so that I won't always have to depend on your Lightning or Alin's Coco to do my bidding.

Thank you for your advice; as long as I avoid her when she decides to sharpen her tongue, I will survive the summer with Her Excellency—as will you with Great Aunt Beatrice, who seems to be having you do the wind dance again. Though, I really shouldn't complain too heavily about the two; after all, if they hadn't insisted on taken us along as they plotted to conquer London society together, we may never have become friends.

As for Sanders, you are quite right—he is the village fool. After the chicken-scandal, he was determined to gloat over the product of his hoax. He came to deliver Grandmama a message from town, since Her Excellency has still not become very accepting of "those malodorous, disease-carrying" Pigeons that have become the fruit of modern-day communication. After leaving the house, he must have sneaked around the garden, because the next I saw him he was resting on Mama's pear tree, tracing the etchings you, Cassie and I made of our names last summer and smiling sardonically.

"What are you doing up there, Sanders?" I asked, calmly. "Lost something? Mayhap a chicken?"

He smirked. "Has my gift offended Princess Adamine? Accept my humble apologies." He attempted a mock bow that lost him his balance, and landed him on his rump in front of my feet.

I laughed heartily, watching him attempt to regain his composure. He quickly jumped to his full height—which surpasses mine by more than a foot these days—and came around to stare at the contents of my bucket.

"What have you got there, Princess Addie? It looks awfully smooth to be pig feed," he said, grabbing at the bucket and making a face.

"It is none of your concern," I responded curtly. "And let's drop the title, Sanders. I'm in no mood to deal with your odd humor today."

"Be that as it may, I have come to voice my concern, Ms. Ross," he said, spitting out my surname like one does a dirty word. " It's upsetting, really, seeing you arrive here each summer wearing those frilly dresses of yours, and leaving in worn-out garments and stained apron, having trouble removing the dirt from under your nails. What will everyone in London think?!" He said that last bit in a high-pitch voice, sounding very much like that irritating Silvia Seu, who could easily have said—and probably is saying—the same thing.

Now Gwen, you know I am not one to place too great an importance on my looks. But I did regret having to face Sanders in such attire. And I suppose I felt lonely—being the only one with a 'stained apron.' Enough of that! What I am trying to say is—I let him have it—the whole bucket-full of fertilizer—over his head.

"Do not confuse me with the likes of Silvia and Marioara Seu who actually care for such frivolous things as the state of their frilly dresses, " I told him, haughtily. Of course, I wasn't entirely truthful about not caring for clean garments, but one does say rash things when at her ploys.

"How…how dare you?" he managed to ask through mouthfuls of the muck.

"Well, I wanted you to see for yourself that you are quite right. It is too smooth to be pig feed." And I walked away laughing—but not without thinking that I may have to be wary of Sanders in the coming days. If I know him well enough, he will not let this go without retribution.

Gwen, I am sure your Aunt Beatrice would have found my behavior "simply shocking", but someone had to put Sanders in his place—stealing Mrs. Ogden's chickens, and trying to put the blame on me. The nerve of him! And I must admit, I did enjoy wiping that smirk off his face.

I am very pleased to hear that the change of scenery has agreed with Cassie. London was never the best place for the ill to improve. Sacala might have been, but there are no accomplished Healers here to complement the fresh air, and Cassie needs both.

At the moment, I am working on a new batch of sunburn lotion. I'm experimenting with a charm that should allow you to apply smaller quantities and achieve similar results—and which should conveniently allow me to place the lotion in the same duck quill as my next letter. Once I am done, I am certain that it will last both you and Cassie a greater part of the summer. However, I will include the recipe with the letter so that you may prepare the lotion yourself, should you run out.

Before I close, Gwen, I must tell you that I am quite envious of your opportunity to continue language lessons. I wish I could have the chance to brush upon my Romanian. I get so darn tongue-winded when Sanders comes about. Maybe Mr. Chalmers will teach you some witty insults if you ask nicely?

Take care,

Addie

P.S. I'd think we would have to combine Powers to find a strong enough charm to put a stop to the Hardbottles.

P.P.S. I don't know how you did it Gwen, but your charm will probably go the entire summer without expiring. I have, through extensive prodding, been able to get the pen to sound after two to three days following a response, and not simply every couple of days I go without picking it up. That will have to do for now.

XI, May

Dear Addie,

You need not have any fear about Coco. When the poor bird arrived, she seemed limp with exhaustion. I planned to keep her with me for the carriage for a few days until she recovered her strength. However, to be quite honest, I wasn't sure that the bird could make the long trip home safely. Fortunately, the day after Coco arrived Mama and Margaret were separating from the main party for their own journey to Paris. So, I sadly missed the chance to spook Margaret. I persuaded them to take Coco with, so when she is released, she'll be closer to you and won't have too fly so far. I must admit that I was very fortunate to be in the mews when Lightning hatched - I mean who has ever heard of a falcon as a Carrier? Perhaps it had to do with the fact that I was the first thing he saw when he hatched.

Moving on to a different topic, I say that Sanders got exactly what he deserved. In fact, I doubt our two heads could have planned anything better. Also, you are not vain in any sense. Being made fun of while having to spread fertilizer (especially your grandmother's variety), would discomfit any girl. Also, I will do my best to ask Mr. Chalmers about teaching me cutting and witty things to say in Romanian, but, I am afraid that under Aunt Beatrice's glaring eye, he wouldn't. Of course, since he is such polite man, he probably wouldn't even if she wasn't there to glare at him. I must express my frustration with her, as Aunt Beatrice makes it hard to learn magic. She looks down her nose at it, not because she thinks it's bad (think of how it helped her in her life), but because she doesn't deem it appropriate for a young _lady_.

Fortunately, when we stop and rest, Mr. Chalmers is sure to quiz me or give me tasks to do with my Power. At least _he_ understands that magic is important and useful and if I have the Power, I should be taught to use it. In fact, he reminded me that the Latin I am learning can be used for spell casting. I must admit, the thought makes me feel very excited - imagine, using your Power without having to channel and infuse it into some herbal potion. This is far more powerful than what the local witches and wizards use - not that there is anything wrong with them, but one must admit, the ability to cast a spell without having to create some brew is much more practical and useful. So far, all I have learned is a levitation spell and a location spell. I am going to tell you how to perform the spells, as they might prove useful. To levitate an object, focus on the object (pointing on it seems to help me) and say novere (no-ver-áy). Obviously, the further away the object is and the heavier it is, the harder it is to lift. To keep it up, you have to keep concentrating on it (I assume true magicians only need to devote a small part of their attention to keep something up, but I tend to be most exhausted after keeping just a pebble up for a minute). As for the locating spell, you need to put something, like a needle, in a cup of water. Then, wave your hand over the cup and say ostrend discess (dee-ciss) invenio, (in-ven-yo). As long as you concentrate, the needle will point in the direction of the object or person you are looking for. Mr. Chalmers says that by levitating something like the needle and applying the locating spell, you don't need the cup of water, but I was too exhausted to try and see if it would work. There are also supposed to be other words to say to make the pointer more specific, but these spells are more than enough to keep me busy. One last thing, the spells can be written, but they require knowledge of the Latin symbols and unique diagrams. I'm afraid that my knowledge in both areas is rather lacking, so you'll have to do the spells verbally for now until you come back and learn the written way in the fall.

Your best friend,

Gwen

P.S. The lotion recipe is working splendidly.

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	3. Chapter 3

XVI, May

Dearest Gwen,

I'm dreadfully sorry for making you wait so long for this letter. I would have written you sooner, if time permitted it. As it so happens, I've been busier these past few days than when I had wish-it-were anything-but-this rounds. I'm going to tell you everything that has happened, but first I want to touch upon a certain point you made in your last letter.

I know that I will sound awfully repetitious, but I must mention how horrible it is of your aunt not to let you train your Power. Now, if her excuse was an aversion towards magic, then I could be more sympathetic with her decision— though I would in no way agree with it. However, knowing your Aunt Beatrice's love for court illusions, I know that that is not the case. That she refuses to let you practice simply because you are a lady is absolutely appalling. Aunt Beatrice was always a century behind on such matters.

If it would make you feel any better, I can tell you that life with Grandmama isn't becoming any less difficult. Oh, Grandmama doesn't say much about the magic. In fact, she'd rather not acknowledge its existence at all, if she could help it. I believe her attitude towards any magical event is to ignore it in hope that it will disappear. That does make it easier for me—Grandmama never asks questions if she assumes I am working at something supernatural. She does, however, do a lot of grunting and sighing, but I've learned to take no notice of her when she is in one of these moods.

I only wish that Grandmama's attitude towards magic would apply to everything else. Then I wouldn't have to fear the dawning of her dreary drawl at all hours of the day. As you predicted in one of your letters, Grandmama has indeed decided to overlook her illness for a time in order to prepare for the Festival. I was near the east garden a few days ago when, to my halting surprise, I saw her climb the brick stairs—the ones she proclaimed last year that "not even the coming of the town vicar could force me to ascend"— to the garden to criticize my clumsy skill at washing garments. It's funny how little her "swollen legs, crooked spine, and the sting of old-age " seem to bother her when she is racking her wits for new ways to complain about my work.

As she climbed the last step, Grandmama gave me a thoughtful look—the kind that convinced me she was up to something.

"Adamine, you silly girl, you're going to have to wring every one of those garments again. They are dripping all over the place and I fear the soap water will poison my rhododendrons," she said. She didn't seem to care that there were a good twenty leaps between the flowers she spoke of and the clothesline.

"Yes Grandmama. I'll get right to it," I said in the dull tone I've learned to use when I'm around her. I caught Grandmama's eyes wandering briskly about the yard. I knew then that she hadn't walked up the brick stairs just to complain about some dripping garments.

"Adamine, I am sure you are aware that the summer festival is approaching."

"Yes Grandma--"

"Don't interrupt me, Adamine Catalane Ross." Something in her voice suggested I'd better drop my tone of indifference and give her my full attention.

"As I was saying, the Festival is approaching and it is your obligation as a Ross to attend it. As you might have noticed, if you weren't at your rubbish musings all day, I haven't been feeling quite well of late. Of course, that wouldn't usually prevent me from being your chaperone. As it so happens, I have another engagement that night so I will--"

"--I won't be able to attend the Festival?" I asked, the thought making me feel slightly regretful. I was looking forward to the company of others my age. And if Grandmama couldn't chaperone, then I would certainly have to miss it.

I definitely wasn't prepared for what came next.

"Well," Grandmama continued, "I talked to that nice Boyd boy when he brought the mail last Monday and I've decided that he will take you to the Festival."

My mouth dropped and, for once, I was speechless.

"Mind you, I cannot allow you to be in the presence of a boy without a chaperone. Luckily, his mother will be available to escort you to the town hall and remain with you throughout the night." A great dread overcame me as she said this. If Sanders and his mother are to be my escorts to the Festival, perhaps I would be better off not going at all. Sanders might take this as an opportunity to seek revenge—though perhaps his mother's presence will limit his plans.

"But, Grandmama --"

"Not another word, and no need to thank me. I can only hope that you will conduct yourself as a young lady that night, and not the ill-mannered ruffian I know you to be on occasions." After saying her piece, Grandmama descended the brick stairs and made her way back to the house—leaving me with a handful of dripping garments in one hand, and a handful of unanswered questions in the other.

Why in the world would Sanders offer to take me to the Festival? I am certainly not his most favorite person—and he is not mine. And why is Grandmama so willing to allow me to go with the Boyds? Though Grandmama can be, on the occasion, quite a matchmaker, she generally considers town gatherings to be "inconsequential activities". I cannot count the number of times she prevented me from going to the Ancas' summer celebrations because she was too weary to act as chaperone.

Last, I am simply dying to know what Grandmama's other "engagement" is all about. I didn't give it much thought until after she left—but it is, by far, my most burning question. Grandmama hardly ever visits with others—unless you count nosy Mrs. Ogden, who makes it her duty to impose in all Sacalan's lives, or Mrs. Craciun, whom Her Excellency visits when her protesting muscles force her from her dustbed. I may be dying to know what she was on about, but I know that no prodding on my part could convince her to reveal anything that she had not offered to tell me in the first place.

Well, the Festival isn't for another six days. And nothing as interesting as discovering that I will be going with Sanders has happened since Grandmama last got out of bed--yes, Grandmama is lying in her dustbed as I write. Though, I did have an odd experience of sorts this week. On Tuesday, I was retrieving drinking water from the well near the Socaci house when I met with the Seu sisters. Silvia, the older sister with the dark mole above her upper lip- approached me and said:

"It will be nice to see you at the Festival Saturday. But it's a real pity you had to go through all that trouble to assure your attendance. Really, you could have come with Marioara and me if you were that anxious about missing it. I'm sure Voicu wouldn't have minded the extra weight." And she left before I could say a word. Really Gwen, I wonder what Sanders is telling everyone-- that I begged him to take me? Well, if that's the case, he had better be on his guard Saturday night. I won't have a boy ruining my good name when I can very well do that on my own.

So now I am airing out my best indigo dress for the Festival—it's been in my valise for nearly three weeks. I also have to dig through all my belongings to find some appropriate accessories.

Thank you for sending me all those wonderful spells Mr. Chalmers taught you. I haven't been able to put them to use yet. I expect I'll need them Saturday to levitate a glass of water over Sanders head—and accidentally let if fall—or to locate a good hideaway if things get too intense.

I suppose you have already arrived at your father's estates by now. Please update me on Cassie's condition, and describe all the exciting happenings about York.

Your friend always,

Addie

P.S. You might be wondering how I evaded the wrath of your memory charm for an entire week. Alas, I did not. I had to bury my quill pen under the pear tree for the entire time. The alarm was so loud that I could still hear it vaguely when passing the tree. Luckily, it didn't seem to bother anyone but Ursu. The poor dog went around with his tail between his legs all week…he couldn't figure out what the noise was, and his whining got him a great deal of reprisals from Grandmama.

XVIII, May

Dearest Addie,

I have some news that I simply must tell you about now, before anything else. As it has been some time since your last reply (I'm sure that summer storm didn't help Lightning fly any faster), I've finally arrived at my father's estates. As you know, the estates are temporary (as they belong to Grandpapa's heir, Uncle Charles), but as he is away as the government's diplomat, Papa is setting uncle's affairs in order for him. You also know that I was so excited to be visiting a new place, with new places to explore (although I wouldn't really call York a city, but rather a large village). However, I fear that my enthusiasm has been much diminished ever since I learned that this area is haunted!

We've both been through some very wild adventures together, so I'm sure that you understand that the thought of haunts, ghouls, and ghosts, does not particularly frighten me. However, I worry for Cassie - with her delicate physique and vivid imagination, she seems to take the thought of ghosts deeply to heart and seems rather frightened. Perhaps I am rambling. Allow me to begin at the beginning.

We had just arrived on the estates on Wednesday afternoon and the rest of the day was spent unpacking, getting back into the custom of dressing for dinner, things like that. Then on Thursday, the Hardbottle brothers came to visit. I wonder which is more despicable…Wendell or Oliver? They came riding up in time for afternoon tea (what a fortunate _coincidence_) with their mother. While Mrs. Hardbottle and Aunt Beatrice had tea at one end of the drawing room, Cassie and I were stuck entertaining the two brothers.

"Did you hear any ghosts last night?," asked Oliver.

"What ghosts?," Cassie and I replied in unison.

"Why, there are ghosts in this area! About two centuries ago, Roman soldiers invaded the county of York. In time, the local farmers drove them off, but the land is still haunted by those soldiers who died here. No one knows what will lay the ghosts to rest, but rumors have it that they wish to complete their original tasks - to murder all the English and to take everything in this land, since they believe it belongs to them," Wendell explained.

After that, I'm afraid that all was lost. All poor Cassie could do was to ask the two of them questions and grow mare panicky as each moment passed. At dinner that night, that was all she could talk about. For once, I was grateful for Aunt Beatrice's usual reply to the strange and supernatural - "Pooh, child. Don't worry your head over it - they're simply tales of an overactive imagination." Sadly, Cassie didn't seem to heed Aunt's advice very much (not that I blame her - most of the time I try to ignore Aunt's advice myself). That night, as I tucked Cassie in, she said, "Gwen, do you think the Roman ghosts will come for me tonight?"

"Of course not. I asked Mr. Chalmers and he said that ghosts are not common occurrences at all. The odds of seeing a ghost in your lifetime are slimmer than Oliver adding up 2 + 2 to get 4," I said, "Furthermore, the odds of seeing multiple ghosts in one place is like getting hit by lightning, three or four times. Don't worry about the ghosts - there are none."

Although my reply seemed to gain her smiles at that moment, I am afraid that the stories are bothering her after all. Every morning for the past four days, she has come to breakfast with circles under her eyes and the maids tell me her sheets are a mess, from her tossing and turning all night. Tonight, I am going to suggest that she is given one of the puppies from the kennels to be her own personal pet. Although having a dog sleeping with her may not be the most sanitary thing in the world, perhaps having a warm, loving, fuzzy doggie near her will help her sleep and "protect" her from the ghosts. Otherwise, I am at my wits' end at what else I could do. I will wait a few days to get your reply and see if you have any suggestions, but this seems to be my best course of action, no matter how hard I will have to fight Aunt Beatrice over the matter.

Now that that matter is settled for better or for worse, I also must update you on the spells that I sent you in my last letter. After I sent Lightning off, I realized just how unclear I had been. In regards to the levitation spell, the heavier the object is to be lifted, the more mental energy it will require. This may seem obvious, but I do not wish to be chided by Mr. Chalmers for being haphazard by only giving you half the information about a spell. As for the locating spell, remember to concentrate on the object or person you are looking for. The thought can be as simple as "north" or as specific as "the gloves Mama gave me" (which reminds me, I should look for those). It is easier for beginners in spell casting to say (out loud) what they are looking for, while doing so in Latin makes the spell much easier (although you can be limited by what Latin you know), but it also makes it more dangerous as others with the Power will be able to hear what you are doing. All spells can be done mentally, but they are more difficult that way. Finally, one more thing that I must mention - Mr. Chalmers has had time to teach me one more spell - the one for fire. The word is cendaray (sen-dair-_ray_). The fire can be started anywhere (even underwater if you are powerful enough), but it is easiest just to start the fire on some kindling and let it feed on the wood. If you try to keep the fire going in the air, on stone, or on other places it does not naturally burn, its fuel is the Power you put into it, making it much more draining to use. I hope I've been clear enough so that you will be able to use it (on Sanders if necessary).

That brings me to another point - your story of what happened between you and your grandmother is very interesting to me. What do you think that your grandmother means by allowing you to go with Sanders and his mother? What is her other engagement? Your letter raises so many questions and afraid that all the possible answers in my mind do not bode well for you. As Uncle Charles would say, "I smell a rat". I'm afraid that all I can do now is control my curiosity until your next reply, in hopes that it will bring something of this matter to light.

I must do one more thing before I send this letter off. I simply have to tell you something about these estates. They are very large and cover quite a wide variety of terrain. There is a portion of a forest, so that fresh meat can always be hunted, a small lake for rowing and boating, and (I'm told) some musty old caves tucked into some corner of this land. As for the manor itself, it is gorgeous. Although I haven't had time to explore every nook and cranny (what with unpacking, entertaining the Hardbottles, and the continuation of my lessons), I can easily tell you that the manor is enormous and very finely furnished. One room I did get to visit was the library - where every wall was covered in books! I know you can imagine my thrill at the thought of being able to spend some time there to read some of them. The windows are huge, letting in lots of light, while the chairs are perfect for curling up (even though Aunt Beatrice says ladies don't curl up: they sit up straight). As for my room, I have a canopy bed! (You know I always wanted one of those.) The walls are covered in an embroidered tapestry that depicts a very calming scene of the forest and it fades into a ceiling tapestry showing all of our constellations (I can't imagine how much time it took to do all that work - the women must have had more patience with needles than I ever will).

I fear that I have exhausted you with all my rambling. I shall give this letter to Lightning immediately, in hopes that he gets to you in time for the Festival.

Your best friend,

Gwen

P.S. I'm sending along a bit of ribbon that should (if my memory serves me) match your dress, so you can braid your hair, if you choose. There's no harm in looking good. Although it's not a necessity, it always gives a girl a boost of confidence to know she is well dressed.

P.P.S. If I remember correctly, you can disable the charm on the quill if you pour an infusion of marigolds over it. However, if you stop writing to me, I will get Mr. Chalmers to teach me a stronger charm and place it on a quill to send to you.

P.P.P.S. Although I'm not sure, I don't think that the locating spell can be used to find "a good hiding place". You see, from what I understand, a good hiding place is too vague for the spell to find. This may seem contradictory to my statement that the spell can be used to find the direction north (which in its own way is rather vague), but the difference is that there is only one north, while there might be many different possibilities for a good place to hide. That's why (according to Mr. Chalmers), such a spell can't be used to locate thieves, since the police don't know who the thief is. On the other hand, the spell can be used to locate a stolen item (because it is specifically _your _item). I'm sorry that I've been unclear, but I'm sure that even without the spell, you'll be able to get away from Sanders if necessary. Write back soon!

G.R.S.


	4. Chapter 4

XXIII, May

_My dearest friend,_

_Once again, a week has passed since I've touched quill to scroll. Somehow, it seems more like half a season since we've last corresponded—so much has happened this past week that I feel more displaced from London and our world back home than ever before. When I last received your letter, I had you pondering over Grandmama and Sander's peculiar behaviors. Though I found few clues as to Grandmama's "other engagement", I was quite accurate in my assumption that Sanders meant no good in inviting me to the Festival. But I am getting ahead of myself. I will start at the beginning, so as not to leave out a single detail._

_The days before I received your letter, I diligently cleaned Grandmama's house and outdoor kitchen, as per Her Excellency's orders. I wasn't sure why Grandmama had me cleaning again so soon—I had barely finished dusting and washing the windows two days earlier—but I didn't dare argue. Ever since Grandmama announced that she would have another "engagement" on the day of the Festival, the tone of her voice has become even more final than before, if that's possible. I know this will sound farfetched, but the way Grandmama was going about it, you would think that she expected a beau that weekend._

_I received your letter two days before the Festival and…oh… before I say anything further, I want to thank you dearly for the beautiful ribbon you sent me. It went perfectly with my dress. Now, if only Sanders hadn't ripped it from my hair…but I am getting ahead of myself again. _

_Soon after I received your letter, Alin came over to tell me that Mrs. Ogden wished to speak to me on the subject of a Carrier. She must have heard that I was planning to buy one— she hardly lets a rumor about a business prospect pass by without investigating it. At least, that's what I thought, until Alin told me that a Gypsy woman had forced the bird upon Mrs. Ogden, specifically requesting that she have it given to "a young lady of English instruction, who goes by the name of Rus" —notice how she chose to say my name the Romanian way. _

_Gwen, I wasn't sure what to make of this. Why would a Gypsy woman want to give me a Carrier?_

_After Alin had delivered his message, I managed to slip out of the house to meet with Mrs. Ogden at the Carrier Station. When I arrived at the Station, the most beautiful pigeon I had ever set eyes on stared at me through the window. Its white-tipped wings were spread wide—the pigeon had obviously been fighting to get loose of its confinements before I had come along—its light blue feathers were thicker, and brighter than those of any pigeon I have ever seen, its eyes smoother and more focused. I chuckled silently to myself as I observed the "hair"— which was actually a cluster of tiny feathers—sprouting from the bird's head, giving its face a most daring and comical expression. In the end, what caught my attention most about this bird was its size—from head to tail, it stood at a remarkable half an arms length, and its wingspan was almost twice that. In fact, I have come to think that, although this bird's resemblance to a pigeon is outstanding, it must be of a different breed of birds completely. In the end, I was sure of one thing only—I knew from the onset that this was the bird Mrs. Ogden was meant to show me. _

_After seeing that beautiful bird in the window, I was determined to leave the Station with a new Carrier. Luckily, Mrs. Ogden was just as determined to rid of herself of her new merchandise—so determined was she, that I wasn't even pressed for a payment. Thus, I now have a Carrier—and I have chosen to name him Doran, which, from the remnants of my Greek instruction in London, I know to mean "winged gift"._

_Although I accepted the responsibility of taking on a Carrier, I hardly knew how to help familiarize Doran with the trip between Sacala and your father's estates. Consequently, the next day I lured Alin away from his work at the Carrier Station, and had him observe Doran's flying. We were both pleasantly surprised, and a bit fazed to tell the truth, to see how quickly Doran took to the instructions he was given. When provided with a list of dairy products that Grandmama wished to buy from Auntie Maria of Codomark, Doran sped away quickly and returned in a matter of minutes. His return to Grandmama's house was not unexpected—grown Carriers are quick to orient themselves with routes they have already come across. However, the fact that he found his way to such a remote part of the town, without so much as faltering once in his flight, was quite remarkable. Auntie Maria had Lisabeth bring over the dairy products, and a private note for Grandmama that I failed to glance at, later that day._

_I'll be testing Doran's flying to a greater extent when I send him with this letter. It is unlikely that Doran has ever traveled this route before. Even so, Alin and I both agree that it is worth sending Doran on this flight, if only to discover what other unknown talents he possesses. The worst that may happen should he get lost, I expect, is that he will return home with the letter, and you will receive word from me a bit later than you are intended to. Somehow, I don't think this will happen, but we shall see._

_Now, for the Festival, which I am sure you are anxious to hear about. The events of the Festival are still very fresh in my mind, as it was only yesterday that Sander's knock on Grandmama's door provoked me to descend the crooked steps of the house dressed in garments I had not sported for over three weeks. There I stood in my blue indigo dress, your matching ribbon, and Mama's white silk shoes—you know, the ones with the silver buttons and paste stones—silk gloves, and beautiful silver amulet. _

_At first, I was quite flustered. It was near impossible to miss the stares I was receiving from Sanders, his mother and younger sister— it was a surprise to see that Evalina, who would be around Cassie's age, was to ride with us to the Festival with us—all the while having Grandmama's ominous presence at my back, whispering warnings of the punishments sure to follow If I were to exercise any inexcusable behavior that night. I soon reclaimed my composure, and, trying my best to ignore the glow that had suddenly crept up the back of my neck and threatened to turn my entire face red, I took Sanders extended arm and descended the front steps._

_"Hmm—don't you think you overdid it, Addie-of-the-city? Although I must say, a change in attire was clearly in order," was Sanders first remarks that night._

_"What—" I began, and then I remembered our little encounter two weeks ago, "I…oh…just stuff it, Sanders." I wanted to say more, but I could still feel Grandmama's glare behind my back. However much as I might have tried to ignore it, Sanders did bring up a valid issue—would I feel out of place in my city dress?_

_As we walked down the stone path leading to the front gate, I paid careful attention to the tiny crevices in the ground that threatened to ruin Mama's shoes. When we were well out of Grandmama's range of hearing, I questioned Sanders about Evalina's presence at the Festival. _

_"Is it wise," I asked, "to have the youngster attend the Festival with us?"_

_Sanders, however, appeared not have heard me, and continued leading towards his family's carriage. _

_As we walked towards the carriage, I was suddenly overcome with shyness. Though I have known Sanders and his family for a little over five years—from the time they first moved into Old Radu's house in Codomark—his face, of the three, is the most frequent I have seen about town. His little sister, a quiet companion of my sister's when she visits Sacala, makes occasional appearances, but his mother avoids town events like the plague. I could only imagine the unease generated by any conversation I would be having with her that night. _

_There was plenty more I would have liked to ponder in that moment, but I had to suspend my thoughts as we neared the carriage. _

_"Good Evening Mrs. Boyd, Eva, it is so wonderful to see you both," I said upon reaching the carriage door. _

_"It is nice to see you too," said Mrs. Boyd who, regardless of her words, looked none too pleased to be sitting in that carriage on her way to the town hall. _

_Sanders and I took the front seats of the carriage so that he could steer the mares. The carriage ride to the town hall was as brief as can be expected, seeing as how the town hall is close enough to make riding in a carriage a formality, not a necessity. As we arrived, we watched a group of town inhabitants disembark Mr. Sorin's large communal carriage. From out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of bright pink and blue garment, and I was flooded with relief as I realized I would not be the only one sporting Western fashion at the banquet. A few girls, like Silvia and Marioara, had their prosperous parents import gowns—some more elaborate than mine—specifically for this event. _

_As I slid from my seat next to Sanders, I couldn't help but notice how different the town hall looked. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make this day special for the Sacalans. Above the three main doors hung lovely gold and silver banners, each with the emblem of the magical party the town currently supports—the Alchemist Party. The walls of the town hall, which had been coated with Deliberate Dye, were constantly changing colors—every so often they went invisible, providing us with a clear view of the inside. Large statues of a cloaked Bendis, the Goddess of the Moon and Magic, and Făt-Frumos, the Romanian Prince Charming who, in his statue, appeared to be chasing away the dragonlike Zmeu, were positioned on either side of the main gates. _

_People were talking enthusiastically, and Carrier Pigeons were flying by the hundreds across the courtyard—delivering last minute reminders from the family members left at home, love notes and rumor notes from overenthusiastic ladies, and letters asking for the meeting place of the gathering following the Festival…for, of course, no one intended to leave at Midnight, when the doors to the town hall would close behind them. _

_Everyone was so elega—oh my Gwen! Grandmama's having a fit! I think she's just thrown a plate against the kitchen door. I'm in my room at the top floor, so I'm unable to see what is causing her rage. She's yelling for me at the top of her lungs, so I suppose I must go. I'd love to tell you all about the Festival in this letter, but if I leave now, Grandmama will keep me so occupied that I might not be able to finish it for weeks. So I'm going to send it off as it is; I know you would be worried to not hear from me for so long a time._

_Please take care of yourself and Cassie. And yes, although this letter has come too late for my advice to affect your decision, I do believe Cassie would do well to have a puppy to play with._

_Your friend always,_

_Addie_

* * *

XXVII, May

Dear Addie,

Bless you for accepting and sending your letter with Doran! He truly is a "winged gift." Now I suppose I'd best explain why I am so glad you sent him, but before I do so, I must add that I hope this letter finds you none worse for the wear, since your grandmother's temper tantrums are infamous.

Now, the truly tricky part is deciding where to begin. I suppose I'd best start almost where your letter left off… It was Tuesday morning and Papa, Cassie, and I were sitting down to a formal breakfast (why Papa bothers to have them when there are only three of us, I'll never know). Then, William came in.

"Yes, William?" Papa asked.

"Sir, I'm afraid that I have disturbing news to report," he replied.

"Well, out with it," Papa said. Then, glancing in our direction, Papa (sadly) remembered to send us out of the room. I made sure that Cassie did go to kitchen for something to eat, but I lingered and stooped at the keyhole in the hall.

"Sir, I'm afraid that the tales about the ghosts may have some truth to them," William said. "Numerous reports have come to me from people of the house and of the surrounding estates. I have summarized what they have told me. It is as follows, sir: Cook tells me the firewood for the kitchens has been replaced with greenwood, resulting in a smoky fire, while things that are left to set overnight have been taken or tossed around. Gamesmen have had their trailmarkers moved and, as a result, have wound up tripping their own snares and hanging in the air or falling into their own pits – fortunately, those without spikes. Similar reports abound sir. The blacksmith has lost his tools and the baker's flour is constantly found strewn about. This mischief always occurs at night, sir."

"But that's nothing!" Papa exclaimed. "Any boy bent on causing trouble could easily do the same! And I highly doubt that, _if_ the rumors are true, old soldiers would try to frighten us away with such paltry tactics," Papa retorted.

"Sir, I would be inclined to agree with you, but villagers have reported seeing, from a distance, glowing figures," replied William.

"Couldn't that be done with the Power?" asked Papa.

"I wouldn't know sir," answered William.

"Then send Mr. Chalmers to me and have the remaining reports of the estates waiting for me, please" asked Papa.

"Very good sir"

"Thank you."

Moments later, Mr. Chalmers came in (fortunately not through the door that I was standing in front of!).

"Chalmers, have you heard of these ghosts?" asked Papa.

"Yes, sir. And I'm guessing that you want to know if they are truly spirits or mortal mischief-makers," Mr. Chalmers replied. Papa nodded.

"Well, from the reports of the villagers, the glowing doesn't seem to be any Power-produced light that I've ever heard of – without further information, I will just have to guess that they are unsettled spirits," said Mr. Chalmers.

Papa nodded his thanks and Mr. Chalmers left. Papa looked exactly how I felt – rather contemplative and worried. How in the world am I to deal with spirits?

After finding out this disturbing news, I became quite settled in the thought that Cassie should have a dog, no matter what storm comes from Aunt Beatrice. So, I called Cassie and we went out to the kennels, where we met with Sean, the master of the hounds. Basically, the moment we walked in, Cassie threw herself on the ground with the puppies, while Sean and I talked.

"'Morning, ma'am, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"Please, Gwen will do. I am – or rather Cassie is, looking for a dog," I replied.

"Well, these ain't real ladies' pets – they's hunting dogs," Sean said doubtfully.

"I'm fully aware of that. I was thinking we wanted a dog with a lot of spunk that's easy to train. A big dog would be nice too," I replied (and then, in hushed whispers, I told him about my worries about the ghosts and how I thought a little extra protection wouldn't do Cassie any harm). Sean told me he had just the right type of dog and he showed us to a pen where seven or eight puppies romped on the floor. Addie, they are the prettiest dogs I have ever seen! Each dog was long and leggy and they all had long, silky, deep red fur. When I asked, Sean told me that they were a cross-breed, part Irish setter and part Irish wolfhound. He then added that, full-grown, he expected the dogs to be three feet at the shoulder! Now, I must say, if I thought I was infatuated by the lot, then Cassie fell head-over-heels. Almost instantly, she chose the most playful of the group, cuddled him in her arms, and named him Rex. After that, there was nothing else I could do. She carried him into the house as proudly as a new mother carrying a baby.

Sadly for me, Aunt Beatrice found out rather quickly…Fortunately, although I did not know a particular spell, I used raw Power to block out her indignant words (I realize that brute force is not as efficient as herbal spells and much less efficient than spoken ones, but I couldn't stand it!). Sadly, I released the spell too soon and I heard her say…

"And who knows what your father is thinking! Letting you run around doing whatever you'd like! It's not appropriate for a young lady! I'm having one of the servants fetch that mongrel out now!" she exclaimed.

I gasped – how she insulted Papa!

"Well! Aunt Beatrice, you may have failed to realize this, but Adamine left Cassie in _my_ care, not yours and _I_ deem it best that she be allowed to keep her dog. I trust you shall respect my wishes in this matter," I replied in my snootiest, coldest voice. Aunt Beatrice looked flabbergasted! Then, she sniffed her nose and left. I believe I've won the battle, but I'm rather afraid to see what punishment she will think up for me.

For the next couple of days, nothing much happened. I helped Cassie train Rex (who is proving to be most intelligent), working at my books, and practicing my three spells under Mr. Chalmers' watchful eye. Then, Thursday morning, I was awakened by a loud crash. I leapt out of bed expecting trouble – I mean, I wasn't going to let a ghost ruin our family house! But as I stepped outside my room and looked downstairs, I saw (what seemed like) hundreds of trunks in the hallway. Then I remembered – my cousins were arriving today. I dashed back into my room to change and then rushed downstairs to greet them all.

Since it's been so long since we've seen them (_I_ barely recognized them), I'd best give you a description of each of them to show you how they've changed. Timmy and Tessa are now eight and the cutest pair of twins you'd ever hope to see. They both have big brown eyes and chestnut hair with a hint of "troublemaker" about them – much like their father, Uncle Wilfred (though much less red in the face). Fortunately, they are nothing like the Hardbottles. Josephine, who is now eleven, will truly be the beauty of the family, with her blonde hair and brown eyes. Despite her growing attractiveness, she remains quiet and her personality more closely reflects her mother, Lily – both are quiet, calm, serene, and sweet. David, being our age, has the twin's coloring, but is not quite such a troublemaker, although he gladly recounted the escapades the three of us had four summers ago. I am glad that they have finally come, since their will be more people for Cassie to play with and keep her mind off the ghosts. In fact, I hope that David will help me deal with them.

As they all got settled, there were loads of hugs and kisses to go around, along with a pleasant chat over tea, scones, and the like. Later that day, I went with David out for a ride, since I thought it would be a good time to explain to him the current situation. I realize that his parents will find out, but I don't know if they will see it fit to tell him (after all, Papa sent me out of the room) and I certainly don't want the twins or Josephine to find out – no need to have more frightened children on our hands. (Oh, and you should have seen how they all got so excited when Cassie showed them Rex!)

Anyways, back to the ride…

"So Gwen, what was this 'important matter' you _had _to speak to me about?" David asked.

"Well…David, do you remember when we were traveling through Germany – when Addie and I were coming back from Romania and we met up with your family, from their travels, to go back to England?" I asked.

"Yes! That was one of the best times I've ever had! The leaves were changing colours, when our families stopped to rest, we chased each other among the trees…and the ghost stories – remember how spooked we were when my father told those stories at night, even though we were almost always safe in a hotel?" he said, grinning cheerfully.

"Yes, I remember. Now about those ghost stories…" I began.

"And that one time – I hid frogs in your bed and Addie's after we heard about the dead man who walked from the swamps! How you two screamed!" he said with a chuckle. Then, he added, "Of course, you two did a good job of getting even – who would have ever thought of that snapper turtle in my drawer? I could have sworn that Mortuitus' rats themselves were after me…still do have a scar on my finger," he said, glancing at his right hand.

"Oh, I am sorry about that…" I hedged.

"It was fair," he said with another grin.

"But, David, what I have to say is much more serious. It seems that there really are ghosts in this area. The Hardbottle brothers (and here David gave me a look, which I can fully understand) say that they are dead Roman soldiers who are upset that they failed to conquer the area and, for some reason, they are choosing to cause mischief now. The local people have seen them, Mr. Chalmers believes that they could be real, and minor, real, problems have occurred," I blurted out.

"Mr. Chalmers believes that they are real?" David asked incredulously. I nodded and he seemed to take the situation much more seriously.

"Well then, I suppose we must come up with a plan," he said. "I suggest…"

But I was never to find out what he suggested since, at that moment, five giant rats appeared! Not the normal nasties that we see occasionally roaming around, that the cats must gang up on to catch, but rats that must have been two feet long with another foot for the tail, weighing thirty pounds! The most remarkable thing about them was that their eyes glowed, and I do mean glowed, red and that there seemed to be a faint haze about them. Now, Addie, you know that David might be a very nice person and quite brave, but no matter his talents in these areas, he has never been a very good horseman. When Star saw the rats, he reared up, turned tail and fled, while my own Silver was cavorting about, trying to avoid getting bitten by the loathsome creatures.

Then, the most amazing thing happened. Doran suddenly alighted on a branch above and started cooing in the oddest manner. It was if…if his coos had some magical ability – they seemed to resonant as a bell rings, even after you stop striking it. I seemed to have blacked out for a moment, for the next thing I recall, Silver was standing calmly, while the rats lay dead on the ground. They no longer looked menacing – much more like regular rats and they seemed to be rotting a little. Doran was still sitting on the branch and watching me. I was tempted to get off to look at them more closely, but then I heard a whinny far off and I remembered David's plight. I galloped off in the direction of the sound and I saw that the two of them were already close to the stables (as we had only penetrated the woods when we saw the rats).

I rode back as quickly as possible, to be met by a scene.

"What's this boy!?" shouted Uncle Wilford, "Why are you rushing back in such haste?"

"I'm sorry father, but Star was frightened by some rats and he ran off with me," said David shamefacedly.

"What! My son, not being able to control a horse! It's a disgrace!" uncle yelled (you know how proud he is for serving in the cavalry). "I see that you are not being worked hard enough. Your uncle tells me that Adamine and Gwendolyn picked up good riding skills in Romania – you're off there as soon as you've packed," uncle decided firmly.

"But Uncle Wilford, you should have seen the rats; they're not natural creatures – do come look at them with me," I pleaded, since it certainly was not David's fault.

"Posh, girl. I realize that you're sad David is off, but the experience will be good for him," Uncle Wilford said. And that was the end of the matter. In fact, since Uncle Wilford so smoothly dismissed the matter, no one else has paid any heed to my words about the strange creatures, not even Mr. Chalmers. I suppose that I will simply have to deal with the matter myself.

So Addie, I send this letter to you to tell you to expect David to arrive any day (though I believe that he will be staying with the local horse breeder, about a mile out of town – what was his name again?) and to thank you for sending Doran with your letter – he truly is gifted! You must try to find out more about his talents. Oh, and please do not think that I would ever use my Power to teach a Carrier its route – it truly is wrong to force an animal to learn that way - not that it is painful, but it certainly denies the trainer the bonding experience with the pigeon (or falcon). I would only do so if it was an emergency situation.

I am still most anxious to hear about the Festival and what do you think was meant by the gypsy's statement of giving Doran to a young lady "with fair blood"? I hope that you can unravel these mysteries, for I surely can't.

Oh, and I wanted to say – Good Heavens! What was that crash? Addie, it sounds like we have another family moving in…but everyone expected is here and I know Mama and Margaret can't be back this soon. I'm afraid I must go and investigate.

Your best friend,

Gwen


	5. Chapter 5

I, June

_Dear Gwen,_

_I have just finished reading your letter in the confinements of the old barn where I sit surrounded by straw and cobwebs. I've climbed the wooden ladder—not without caution, as I shall never forget the summer when I had to have my bone set by the village Healer after falling off the top step—to the loft, which is, as you are well aware, the only place in the entire barn where a person can find enough light to read by. My retirement to the barn can be explained in one breath: Grandmama. However, for the sake of clarification, I will tell you the entire story. _

_It all begins where my last letter left off—with Grandmama screaming her lungs sore. To tell it briefly, Grandmama's tantrum was caused by none other than Doran, who had somehow found his way to the Night and Day cake I had baked earlier. When I caught sight of them, initial worries aside, I found the view quite humorous. Grandmama, who was coated in vanilla cake and chocolate icing, was chasing Doran around the kitchen, throwing plates and cups after him in an attempt to scare him away; Seeing her then, you would never have guessed that she had been bedridden with muscle sickness that entire day. All the while, my intelligent little bird hopped from one counter to the next, giving Grandmama the most triumphant of looks—I suppose Doran thought she was merely entertaining him with a game. It came as no surprise that, although Her Excellency didn't come out of the ordeal unharmed, scraping and banging herself on furniture in her enthusiasm to get to Doran, my bird avoided all of Grandmama's attempts to inflict pain. _

_So that brings me to my current accommodation which, although it had been quite a meeting place for us when we were younger, is not one bit welcoming when one has to sit in it alone. But there is no escaping it. I must wait in the barn for Doran, who has been forced to feed himself since Grandmama forbid me from feeding him from our own provisions, and make sure that he doesn't have another encounter with Her Excellency so soon after the last one. Fortunately, Doran knows to come directly to me when he first arrives home. _

_Now that I have explained the reason behind the hastiness of my last letter, I will continue with the events of the Festival. You'll remember my saying that I was quite surprised to see Evalina accompany us on the carriage ride to the town hall. Evalina isn't a day older than Cassie, and Bendis knows Grandmama would have a fit if I should ever suggest that Cassie attend such a mature event. This is probably as right a time as any to tell you that Eva didn't, in fact, attend the Festival, as neither did her mother. _

_I'm sure that you are as surprised in reading this, as I was when I had first learned that Mrs. Boyd wasn't going to honor us with her presence during the festivity. At first, I was so intrigued by the decorations adorning the town hall, and the beautiful toilettes of the Townspeople, that I almost missed Mrs. Boyd's departure. As it is, I turned around just in time to witness Mrs. Boyd taking the reins and, with a brisk command to the mare, leading the carriage in the opposite direction._

_"Where is your mother going, Sanders?" I remember asking. But once again, Sanders chose to ignore me. _

_"Sanders," I pressed, "Are you honestly telling me—or not telling me, I suppose—that I am to be left without a chaperone? Grandmama will have a fit!" I was more curious about the interesting turn of events, than any reaction of Grandmama's, to be quite honest. But I didn't intend on telling Sanders that. _

_When he refused, once again, to respond, I became angry, "What are you playing at anyway? Why did you, of all people, invite me…?" _

_"Be quite and stop dwindling," Sanders interrupted._

_"Well!" I said, my voice quivering with anger, "I will not move another foot until you explain yourself, Sanders Boyd." We had just reached the large gates surrounding the town hall when I made my threat to remain motionless, placing Sanders in a most uncomfortable arrangement; either he told me what I wanted to hear, or he would be forced to explain to Mr. Sorin and the youths arriving by his communal carriage why we insisted on blocking their way. _

_"The hell you won't," said Sanders under his breath, as he attempted to budge my stationary body. But, as you know, Gwen, in dire need, I can be as stubborn as a mule. And Sanders is not nearly as strong as he imagines himself to be. No matter how hard he tried, he could not provoke me to move; although my saying Constagito—__the spell we would say to keep ourselves still during Hide and Peek__—might have explained his inability to stir me more than would, say, my stubbornness._

_"Either you start moving, or I'll enter the House of Culture without you," said Sanders, ominously. What a ridiculous threat, Gwen! Nobody—not even a hooligan like Sanders—would descend the steps within the town hall alone—without even a friend or simple acquaintance—on a Festival day! I immediately knew that he was bluffing._

_"Can I have your word on that?" I asked wickedly. _

_Sanders groaned. He must have been at his wits end because, upon seeing the approach of a couple of town boys, the jolthead pulled me roughly by my hair, placed his mouth near my ear, and whispered:_

"_You'll start moving those dainty feet of yours if you know what's good for you." Sanders' rude behavior—not that he hasn't tugged at my hair before—disrupted my control and, yielding to his strength, I allowed myself to be drawn into the town hall. I was too livid to notice that my curls had come loose. Only when I arrived home later that night did I notice that I had lost your ribbon. _

_In that moment, what I wanted most was to sock Sanders one in between the eyes—the way I had on special occasions when we were younger. But I calmed myself with the promises of a postponed revenge, for I doubted that the Sacalans would thank me for directing a display of violence at such an open occasion. And, of course, images of a frowning Grandmama could not escape my mind. _

_As we passed the burgundy doors of the town hall, a flash of blue light engulfed us, taking both Sanders and me by surprise. Sanders paused, opening his mouth as if to speak. Then, shaking his head, he tugged at my elbow to suggest that we move on. I considered telling Sanders that the blue light was an effect of the contrasting coatings of Deliberate Dye adorning the building. But then, I liked seeing him squirm—Sanders always did behave oddly around the Power._

_My dear Gwen, the inside of the town hall was so lovely, so spectacular that I can by no means hope to properly describe it to you with my paltry words. But, knowing that you shall never forgive me if I don't relay all that I can of that day, I will do my best. _

_I may tell you, unashamedly, that the moment my boots touched the velvet carpet within, I was captivated. It took all my strength to recall the lessons Madame Adrienne—one of my earlier instructresses of dance and etiquette—had taught me about social conventions, and not commit an action of indelicacy. Luckily, I remembered to close my slightly parted lips before anyone took notice. _

_Inside, the House of Culture never looked more refined than it did on that precise Festival day. There must have been a dozen tables, each capable of sitting no less than twenty guests. On the white embroidered tablecloths laid the most exquisite dishes: hand-painted tureens and sauceboats, silver utensils, foot-high centerpieces, sparkling wine glasses. Because pigeons are not allowed indoors during Sacalan festivities, tiny larks and sparrows could be seen perched on portraits and statues, readying themselves to deliver the cartes du jour. In the middle of the hall, there lay a striking fountain of angels, sprinkling, instead of water, colorful lights that appeared to stroke our skin and clothes before fading. Just behind the fountain, an orchestra of the finest musicians played through Antonio Vivaldi's 'The Four Seasons' to lighten the mood as the townspeople arrived. The Court Illusionists—for there were at least a dozen—walked about, bowing to a group of arrivals before producing bouquets of flowers for the ladies, and provoking the fountain's sparkles to form poetic verses in the air. _

_After formal introductions were made, a lark flew past us and dropped a note in my hands—Sanders and I were to sit near the center of the table farthest on the left. As we made our way across the room, my eyes rested on Mayor Tudor, who was anxiously greeting the Alchemists arriving from the city. Although it isn't spoken about openly, it is no secret that the extravagance of this year's Festival was owed largely to the support of the city Alchemists. For one, we have never before had so many outsiders attend a Sacalan Festival. And never has the town hall sported so many of the Alchemists' symbols; though the townspeople are undoubtedly Alchemist supporters, Mayor Tudor is the party's _only_ official representative in Sacala and he has rarely insisted that his party's emblems be displayed about town. _

_Suddenly, in the midst of my thoughts, I felt someone grab my right arm._

"_Adamine! I did not dare expect to find you here," sang an animated voice behind me. _

_I turned to look at the speaker. She was wearing an open-robe gown with a white bodice and pink overskirt, and her pale hair was pinned high above her head with a headdress of pearls. Her already painted face was flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling with delight. It took me a while before I could recognize her, and when I did…_

"_Regina!" I almost shouted. "Is it really you? I haven't seen you in over three years!"  
"It has been a long time," said Regina, looking at Sanders, and throwing me a questioning look. I suppose she was as surprised in seeing me at the Festival with my childhood rival, as I was in finding that I would be going with him. _

_Giving Regina a look that suggested I would explain everything later, I introduced Sanders as my escort for the night—as is required at formal festivities. _

_After nodding politely to Sanders, Regina asked, "How have you been, Addie?"_

"_As well as any person can be when having to spend the summer with Constanta Iancu," I replied softly, not wanting anyone but Regina to hear me speaking ill of Grandmama. _

"_You aren't here alone, are you?" Regina asked with concern._

"_Regrettably, I am. Cassie was bedridden all winter with fever and chills, and Father and I thought it best if she spend the season with Gwen's family. Sir Philip's Healers are among the finest._

"_Poor Cassie," Regina murmured. "Is she doing better?"_

"_Gwen's letters suggest that she is improving, and the Healers have finally allowed her to leave her bed. I can only hope that, after a convalescence, she will be able to place all illnesses behind her."_

"_I pray that she will, Addie," Regina said sadly. Regina could not have forgotten Cassie's long history with illnesses—not when Cassie had first fallen ill the very summer we were all in Sacala together._

"_How is Anton doing?" I asked, changing the subject. "Is your brother still sweet on Cassie?"_

_We both chuckled, remembering the day, three summers ago, when a nine-year old Anton approached Cassie with a prairie rose, offering to be her protector in a game of Manor-keeping._

"_But isn't everyone in love with your sister?" Regina asked lightheartedly. Cassie, whose features are as flawless as a hand-painted china doll, is as kindhearted as she is beautiful. And so, as you know Gwen, nearly everyone Cassie meets falls in love with her instantly._

"_I suppose so," I said, smiling. "How long will you be in town this summer, Reggie?"_

"_A mere three weeks," Regina said sorrowfully. "My father has business to see to in the city, and he has made it quite plain that I am to accompany him. How about you? Are you truly here for the entire season?"_

"_Yes—"I began. Sanders, who had been standing on my left, and frowning the entire time I spoke to Regina, began tugging at my elbow again. "Please excuse me, Regina. It appears that Mr. Boyd desires a private conference." Regina placed her Battenburg fan over her mouth to cover a giggle. _

"_What is the matter with you, Sanders?" I asked, while pulling him to a secluded corner of the hall. "I haven't seen Regina in ages, and she's one of my closest friends. I'm not asking you to be pleasant, just to be reasonable." _

"_Hadn't you two chattered enough?" Sanders asked disdainfully. "Besides, we were standing in the light of the arriving townspeople. I am surprised that you, of all people, did not recognize that as offense of etiquette."_

"_Oh, really?" I asked, fuming. "Are you attempting to give me a lesson in etiquette, Sanders? Because if you insist on speaking to me about the rules of social conduct, perhaps you should first wipe that frown off your face. Or have you forgotten that it is 'an offense of etiquette' for a person to maintain an invariable expression when amongst company? And perhaps you have likewise forgotten how improper it is to interrupt when others are speaking!" It took all my restraint to keep from placing my hands on my hips, and stomping my foot in anger—but I succeeded, knowing that my speech would be meaningless if I succumbed to rage. _

"_Well?" I asked, after a long silence, in which Sanders refrained from producing a retort. I looked at him quizzically. He was acting very oddly—looking around frantically as if watching for someone or, rather, trying to ensure that someone took no notice of us._

"_What are you on about now?" I asked, impatiently. "Afraid people will not recognize you for the fiend you are, in that respectable garb?" That night, Sanders, whom I have rarely seen without a plain shirt and breeches, was wearing a black cutaway tailcoat with a high waistline, pinstriped trousers, and bowed shoes. "Because—you really have nothing to worry about."_

"_Come on, let's move. Almost everyone's seated," said Sanders, pulling me in the direction of our seats. " And aren't you one to talk? Or, do you think, Miss Ross, that the town has forgotten your appreciation for the practical joke? As last I recall it, the baker still hasn't forgiven you for loosing him his most loyal customers a few summers ago. He swears whenever you come to town. And he curses the day when that other big silly—Gwen, is it?—tags along with you. _

"_If she's a big silly, than you're the backside of a boar!" I said, having about enough of Sanders' frustrating temperament. "Although I'd give the boar's backside more credit for its intelligence."_

_I deliberately ignored Sanders' comment concerning one of our wicked pranks. Although it _had_ been a comparatively unkind one, the baker had more than deserved it. He was absolutely horrid to his horse, Spitfire, and no lash on that animal's back wasn't paid for with criticisms for the baker's inability to make a simple fruit pie. Not that I feel wholly guiltless—I won't forget that Grandmama was one of the baker's customers that day. But who can deny the shrewdness of our prank? Nobody could have predicted that you and I would Powerfully switch the sugar and pepper when, only seconds before, the baker had tasted the contents of the shakers himself. _

_While I was recalling the details of that summer's exploits, I almost missed Sanders saying, "Please forgive this undeserving boar for not paying you and your friend the respect you deserve. No, not respect. Honor." He said the last word with heightened scorn, and gave a little mock bow to emphasize his disgust. "And I'm assuming you'll run for the Chair of the Alchemist Party with those oratory skills of yours. But, perhaps you should refrain from using 'backside' in any of your speeches. It'll surely give the town gents indigestion." _

_Finally arriving at our seats, Sanders pulled out my chair—rather roughly, I might add—and gestured for me to sit. The moment we were both seated, the swan-shaped napkins on the right of the silverware took to the air, flying in intricate patterns, before unwrapping and settling in our laps. _

"_Very likely," I retorted, after taking a sip of water. "If you would go so far as calling Mayor Tudor a gent, the way he butters up to the heads of the Alchemist Party."_

_Rather rapidly, Sanders swung his head about, looking me directly in the eye for the first time that night. _

"_We never were good enough for you, were we Addie-of-the-City?" he asked, his gray eyes sparkling. The freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks seemed to thicken in the dim light._

"_That's not it at all, and you know it," I said, refusing to look away. "I have never considered myself to be superior to any Sacalan. However, if you expect me to watch as Baker Ion beats his horse until there is nothing left but blue hide and broken bones, or to turn the other way when Mayor Tudor allows poachers into the town, giving them care that not even the Queen of England can attest to… well… then you'll have another thing coming! _

"_Have you ever thought that, perhaps…just perhaps…Baker Ion and Mayor Tudor, like be self-seeking brutes?" Sanders asked, spelling the words out carefully, as if I were a child requiring a plainer elucidation. "And that they possibly dislike being taught, by an English noble no less, that their ways are flawed?"_

"_But you admit it, Sanders," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Some of their customs are erroneous."_

_He shrugged. "No town is perfect. Every town has its drunkards and its lawbreakers ('You would know,' I said here). But I assure you, you will not find a townsperson who wouldn't rather deal with those criminals—whom at least they've known for years—than a foreigner with a cause to impose her Western education upon them."_

"_A foreigner?" I asked, attempting to look stunned. "Have you forgotten, Sanders? I've known this town longer than you have! I was born here, as my mother before me, and her mother before hers._

"But you left when you were too young to appreciate this country's traditions. You come back every once in a while, believing that you can just carry on from where you left off a summer, or three summers ago. Frankly, Miss Ross, that's a better illusion than what the Court Illusionists have fashioned for us this Festival. The more you are away, the less Sacalan you become, and the less any one of these Sacalans want to have to do with you."

_All at once, the orchestra stopped playing, and the Deliberate Dye transformed the town hall to a bright gold; Mayor Tudor was ready to give the first formal speech of the evening, which was quite fortunate for me because, for the second time this summer, I was rendered speechless._

_"Bun__ă __seara, doamnelor __ş__i domnilor," Mayor Tudor began in his monotonous drawl. _Good evening_, I repeated to myself. _Is it truly a good evening? Andhow would it be if the Mayor spoke with sincerity for once? _Regardless of his steady voice, Mayor Tudor was already turning a vivid shade of crimson, his eyes transfixed on the visitors occupying the seats at the ends of each table. _The Alchemists_, I remember thinking. _If the night doesn't go as they intend, poor Mr. Tudor might find himself removed from the only respectable position he has ever claimed. And from the awful look on his face, that is about he can think of.

_I couldn't bring myself to pay any more attention to the speech. Instead, my thoughts drifted to Sanders' last comments. Yet again, my adversary had forced me to rethink issues that I had, only seconds earlier, felt so certain about. Did the townspeople truly despise me? And how many of them felt the way Sanders did? I tried to remember encounters with Sacalans for whom I have always had perpetual respect, and determine whether their kindness had been sincere, or forced. Eventually, I concluded that my actions were fruitless. If I wanted to discern how the townspeople truly felt about me, I would have to do a little prodding of my own._

_By the time I had suspended my thoughts, Mayor Tudor was concluding his speech, ending with these words: _

"_And so, it is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to the most magnificent Festival Sacala has ever boasted!" A soft applause filled the room. _

_As soon as Mayor Tudor took his seat, over a hundred servants—who were initially positioned behind the tables they were to serve—sang the Dinner Chant, coaxing the sparkles from the angel fountain to fall into our tureens and produce the first course of the night—vegetable soup and boiled fish._

_It was while I was admiring the servants' ingenuity with the Power, that I noticed who was sitting across from Sanders and me—two of Sanders' irritating friends, Bogdan Pasca, and Cami Codorean, who were evidently attending the Festival together. Bogdan, who was wearing a green velvet coat with silk embroidery—'did his mother order it for him?' I was tempted to ask—was smiling wryly. Cami, who might have been pretty if she hadn't damaged her nose in the last three fights she insisted on participating in, looked at her plate smugly, as if the dish was made expressly for her._

_There couldn't have been two more ill-mannered ruffians in Sacala—other than Sanders, himself—sitting across from me. Even Baker Ion had trouble with these two. Only last week, he chased them across town with a rolling pin, yelling largely incoherent words from which I was only able to make out, "think you can insult me!"_

_Catching my eye, Bodgan winked, his chubby face full of mischief._

"_Oh Sanders," said Cami, taking her cue from Bogdan, "You brought the Lady. How do you do Miss Ross? Or is it Baroness Ross? Or Chairwoman Ross?"_

"_More like Maid Ross," said Bogdan, and the two guffawed loudly. _

_I stared at them furiously. To be honest, I didn't quite know how to handle myself. If we were anywhere but at the Festival, I would have said exactly how I felt about those two, in words Grandmama doesn't even suspect I know. But there were people all around us who knew enough about social conventions to frown upon the smallest intimation of a vulgar display. They wouldn't have necessarily been bothered if Cami or Bodgan did anything foolish that night. But word would have spread all across town—and I would have soon found it stroking Grandmama's good ear—if _I _were to act indecently. So I said nothing._

"_Oh my goodness, Bogdan. I believe our little noble is a mute, as well as a phony. Tell us Addie, darling, have you been carrying around any more pig feed lately?"_

_As Bogdan and Cami laughed, I turned to face Sanders. He had told them about my wish-it-were-anything rounds! Well…he wouldn't get away with it that easily._

"_Only for my meetings with Sanders," I finally replied, turning back to look at Cami. "I know how much he likes the fragrance." Bogdan continued to laugh, until Cami nudged him to stop._

_I looked at Sanders again, daring him to say something. But the next comment came from Cami._

"_Oh darling, don't flatter yourself. We know you enjoy rolling in the muck, don't we Bodgan? As much as you enjoy waiting on that eccentric grandmother of yours. Which reminds me, I've always wanted to ask—Do you also chew Constanta's food for her, with everything else that she requires you to do?_

"_That's Mrs. Iancu to you!" I growled. Now Gwen, I don't know what came over me, but I have never felt so angry as I did in that moment. With all that Sanders had said and done to annoy me that evening, it wasn't until Cami insulted Grandmama that I had truly lost control. I felt my Power boiling inside of me—it's never stronger than when I'm angry—and one of the spells that Mr. Chalmers taught you turn inside my mouth. I haven't stopped thanking Bendis that it wasn't the latest one you wrote me about. _

"_Nove…" I began, only to feel a clammy hand clamp my mouth shut._

"_What are you doing, Adamine?! Are you mad? Or have you forgotten where we are?!"_

_It was Sanders' hand, and for the first time that night, his face had lost its frown. Instead, there was a look of pure horror on Sanders' face—an expression I have never seen him wear before. It was enough to faze me, and enough to make my anger subside, but not before the harm was done._

_With Sanders hand still covering my mouth, I turned my head to look at Bogdan and Cami. Hanging haughtily over Cami's head, was her tureen of half-eaten vegetable soup. Cami, who had stiffened when she saw her dish move, stared up at the tureen, spellbound—it's startling how much the Powerless fear magic._

"_Hold it up, Adamine. Don't terminate the spell," Sanders said anxiously, while leaning across the table in an attempt to grab the tureen._

"_I don't know how," I murmured. Oh…I was in a fix! I didn't know for certain how long the spell would last, and try as I might, I couldn't get the tureen to budge. Anger had made me use my Power in haste. Once my anger had subsided, I couldn't help but think of the trouble I had gotten myself into._

"_Novere… Novere…" I whispered, trying to coax the dish back onto the table. I even pointed that second time, but nothing happened. Perhaps the levitation spell only works in one direction, Gwen? _

_I don't know if it was because I had lost my nerve, but only moments later—but not before someone yelled, 'Oh, look over there. A dish is soaring over that lady's head!'— the tureen tipped over, and the vegetable soup fell on Cami's head, followed shortly by the tureen itself._

"_What have you done?!" whispered a furious Sanders, who had almost succeeded in reaching the tureen before it had tipped over. _

_I got up slowly, afraid that I would find a roomful of eyes on me. Fortunately, everyone was too busy inquiring about the 'flying tureen' to pay me any heed. Not wanting to be around when Sanders finally told them what had happened, I rushed out of the town hall, sparing not a single look back. When I reached the burgundy doors, I was once again engulfed in a blue light, but this time I didn't falter. I sprinted down the steps hurriedly—something I soon learned was to be another mistake of the night. _

_Before I reached the last step, the heel from mama's left boot caught a crevice. I felt myself soar and, moments later, I was lying flat-faced on the ground—fortunately, I fell on the grass, and not the brick path leading to the gates. _

"_Oh bother!" I shouted, convinced that I was alone. "Will anything else go wrong this night?"_

_Pulling myself into a sitting position, I examined the afflicted shoe. _

"_It is ruined," I whispered, feeling, if possible, worse than I had before. Not up for anymore running, I sat down on the very step that had sent me flying, tracing that blasted crevice with my finger. Then, all of a sudden, I started laughing. _

_Gwen, I hope you do not suspect for a moment that I was given to hysterics, because, to be quite honest, in that instant, I was feeling more lucid than I had all night. I laughed so hard, tears were springing to my eyes; I simply could not stop picturing the look on Cami's face when that tureen had tipped over. Cami, who fights with half the boys in town, and warms the beds of the other half, and then spreads awful hearsay about everyone she meets—foulmouthed Cami looked ready to heave into bed and hide herself under her coverlet!_

_I didn't even care if the English royals were to hear of my improper performance at the Festival that night. I was in awe—I had attempted the levitation spell a good many times since you had described it to me in your letters, and never was I so successful. I apologize for not writing you of my attempts sooner—then, you might have had Mr. Chalmers explain to you what I was doing wrong—but I didn't want to write you until one of my attempts had triumphed. Well, Gwen, it should remain without saying— that night I had, perhaps in more than one way, most definitely triumphed._

_For a long while, I sat on the steps outside the town hall, unable to stop laughing. Then I remembered Sanders' face when he discovered that I was using my Power, and I sobered up instantly. Bendis! He looked as if someone had died back there. I've always known that Sanders dislikes the Power—and with good reason, since you and I had given him an unforgettably Powerful welcoming when he had moved to town five summers ago. But I thought I saw something else in that look of horror that had overcome his face. Promising myself to give the matter further thought when I arrived home, I smoothed out the wrinkles in my gown, and inspected Mama's shoe one last time. _

_After permitting myself a few good sighs—and assuring myself that, given the right spell, I would be able to restore the heel—I prepared to leave. But before I got to my feet, I heard a noise coming from the rose bushes twenty leaps from where I had fallen. Squinting my eyes, I was able to distinguish two figures in the darkness—one of a skinny boy with wavy brown hair, and another of a young girl with unruly auburn hair held together, conveniently, with pins and leaves. I immediately identified the figures as Alin Săuan and Lisabeth Perde. Amidst their giggles, Alin spotted my gaze. His eyes clouded over with worry. Whispering something to Lisa, he moved away from the rose bushes, and walked in my direction. _

_"Shouldn't you be inside?" Alin asked, not unkindly._

_"I could ask the same of you," I responded._

_"Yes…well…you see…" Alin spluttered, running a hand through his hair._

_"Oh, stop stammering Alin!" I said, watching him shrewdly. "I promised not to spill, and I'm not going back on my word."_

_"That's not it. I mean…" Alin began. Then, seeing the look on my face, he changed his mind and said, instead, "Well, in that case. I can't say I'm not relieved. You know what Lisa's mother and grandmother are like—they'd send her away if they knew she was courting the likes of me."_

_"Oh, I know my aunt and cousin very well," I said, aware of Aunt Maria's desire for her granddaughter to marry a noble. "And, it might interest you to know that I was bluffing. I understand when it's not my place to say anything."_

_"I never could tell with you or Gwen." Alin said, chuckling to himself. "The number of stories you two have fed me. And me, being all of two years younger, actually believing them." _

_He paused, and then added, "It is good to have you back this summer Addie—lightening things up a bit."_

_"More like putting a damper on the town's patience." I said absentmindedly, remembering my conversation with Sanders. _

_"What?" he asked, as he took a place next to me on the step. "Who told you that?"_

_"It doesn't matter," I said, cross at myself for speaking my thoughts aloud. But, after looking at Alin's perplexed expression, I said, "You cannot deny it—the townspeople don't exactly take pleasure in our pranks."_

_"That is a matter of opinion, Addie," said Alin. "Sure you have a few grumblers who hate you for making them the butt of your jokes—but they'd probably dislike you even if you hadn't given them reason to. Most Sacalans find your tricks quite amusing. One year, they were even betting on your next target down at the village tavern."_

_"Really?" I asked. That, I hadn't known about._

_Alin nodded approvingly. _

"_And I know I've been on the—well—unfortunate end of your pranks a few times, but I'm not one to hold a grudge," he continued, a huge smile on his face. "I've learned to laugh at myself, and most of the townspeople have too. Even when you're not around, Addie, someone always has to be the object of a hoax."_

_"I suppose you're right," I said, blushing with embarrassment. Though I was thankful for the comforting words, I thought it time to change the subject. "You should probably get back to—," I said, pointing to an impatient Lisa. The girl, who had seen me look in her direction, seemed uncertain of what to do— jump behind a tree, or acknowledge my presence with a greeting. Relief flooded her face when Alin waved to her enthusiastically._

_"Right," said Alin, turning back to look at me. "Are you okay?" he asked, gazing at my right hand, which was clasped tightly over Mama's boot._

_"Really Alin," I said, importantly. "When have I not been okay? You know as well as anybody, if there is a lady in this town who can take care of herself, it would be me."_

_"How true," he said, getting up. "Well, if you need me to walk you home later—seeing as I can't walk Lisabeth home anyway—"_

_"I'll know where to find you," I finished his sentence, pointing teasingly in the direction of the rose bushes. He laughed, and turned to leave._

_"Alin?" I said, calling after him. _

_He turned around. _

_"Yes?"_

"_You'd do well to find a better hiding spot. I've managed to catch you two twice already." Alin gave me a smile, and walked off._

_And, Gwen, that's about all that I remember of that night. Soon after my conversation with Alin, the Orchestra resumed playing, indicating that the Sacalans had just finished their main courses and would soon take to the floor. I would have liked to dance the Minuet once that night, but I didn't dare return to the Festival with one good boot and a wrinkled gown. Anyway, I wasn't certain if Sanders had not already informed the townspeople about my part in the account of the "flying tureen", in which case, it would have been best for me to keep my distance; As amusing as I had come to find the incident, I wasn't ready to meet the critical stares of over two hundred people._

_And so I went home, picking up a stick to use as defense against stray dogs; I would usually have trusted my Power to be protection enough, but, because of my performance at the Festival, I was too fazed to put too much faith in any one thing. I didn't have to use the stick because, like the townspeople, the dogs had better things to do that night. _

_When I arrived home, Grandmama was still absent. I undressed and threw myself upon my cot, wondering about Grandmama's other 'engagement'. When I had awakened the next day, I found Grandmama in bed, propped up against a pillow. Neither one of us spoke about the night before, which, although I was curious to know where she had been, was probably for the best._

_I've learned from Regina—who has paid me a few visits since the Festival—that the townspeople are befuddled when it comes to the details concerning the 'flying tureen'. There are many rumors, but, thankfully, none of them engage my name. It appears that Sanders hadn't spilled after all, a point that is making me even more eager to inquire about his questionable behavior at the Festival._

_Soon after reading your last letter, in which you informed me of David's impending visit, I had Doran deliver a letter to the local horse breeder. According to Mr. Codrea, David should arrive well before "a healthy-sized horse could encircle the town thrice." By that, I suppose David must have already arrived. I will excuse myself from Grandmama, and take Miţi—the only horse Grandmama has not sold—for a ride to the horse breeder's stables around midday. With any luck, I will find David there. _

_I am relieved that your cousin is to be here this summer—he'll be able to help me solve the many mysteries that I have encountered since coming to Sacala. But I regret that his coming will leave you without an appropriate ally with whom you can fight your own 'spirits,' so to speak. I'm fazed, and also a bit worried, about the unworldly episodes that have occurred in York. Just like you, I have never before come across any real apparitions, and so have little advice to give you. I can only thank you, now more than ever, for deciding to permit Cassie a puppy, and hope that Aunt Beatrice doesn't give you too much grief about it._

_Earlier today, Grandmama spotted me holding my brass-tipped quill pen, which, I had forgotten to tell you, had stopped sounding a letter ago, and urged me to transmit a message to Aunt Beatrice through you: please ask Aunt Beatrice to send Grandmama some of her Muscle-ache Cream—perhaps you or Mr. Chalmers can create a Power-infused cream, which, although I can't convince Grandmama of it, I know would be better._

_Although you've yet to mention it—and who could blame you, with all that is going on there?--I'm anxious to learn if Mrs. Hardbottle's informal parties are as grand as they were famed to be last year. I hope that, amid your spirit-chasing, you will be able to attend one of her festivities this season._

_Well, my dear friend, having just spotted Doran flying towards the barn, I am going to conclude this lengthy letter. Please greet all your cousins for me, and tell Cassie that I miss her dearly. _

_Patiently awaiting your response, _

_A.C.R_

XXVII May

My Dearest Addie,

This situation is too horrible to bear! I'm sure that you recall from my last letter that the crashings in the hall sounded like (to use my own words) "another family is moving in." The scary part was that I was right, but it is not that Mama or Uncle Charles has returned, but the Hardbottles are coming! This is too awful - how will I stand them here!?

Wait…I know that I am overreacting -I can handle this. No, I can't! Addie, I'm afraid that I must wait a few days, maybe until I receive your next letter, before I can continue writing mine, as the shock is too much.

IV June

Well Addie, the Hardbottles have been here a week and I am still alive and sane, though heavens knows how. I'm sure that you're wondering what made the Hardbottles move onto these estates and what has happened during their time here. I shall do my best to make all clear to you.

Just as I was closing off my last letter to you (as you recall) I heard all of the crashing in the hallway. I gave Lightning my letter, put on my dressing gown and then stepped out to see what the commotion was, only to discover Mrs. Hardbottle, Oliver, and Wendell out in the foyer with the servants dragging in trunks and pieces of baggage.

"What's going on here?" I asked Oscar (one of the footmen).

"The Hardbottle family is moving in ma'am," he replied.

"Why?" I demanded to know.

"I'm afraid that I wouldn't know ma'am. I was simply told to move their belongings up to southeast suites," he answered.

Then, Papa strode in.

"Papa, what's happening?" I insisted, after pulling him aside.

"It seems that the foundation of the Hardbottle's manor suddenly gave way – their whole manor is slanted and some of the inner walls are destroyed," he answered. "I've offered them a place to stay until either workmen can repair it, or until they decide to go back to the city when the Season begins."

"So they'll only be here for a few days, right?" I maintained. "Right?"

"No, Gwen, I think that they'll be here for the rest of the summer. You remember how badly the London heat and smog affect Mrs. Hardbottle. There's no way, in good conscience, I could send her back to London just when the heat is beginning to build up. And you know that her family lives too far away to travel to, especially in the growing heat," he replied.

Addie, for a moment it felt as if the room was closing in on me as I realized I would be living under the same roof as the Hardbottles for two whole months.

Then Papa had another horror to add.

"Oh, and Eric and Kathy Hardbottle will also becoming," he mentioned.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hardbottle have more children than Oliver and Wendell!?" I asked, amazed. In truth Addie, now that I stop to think about it, I've rarely seen Mr. Hardbottle and the fact that there are more Hardbottle children has never occurred to me.

"But Mr. Hardbottle must be coming too," I added hopefully. For, as you recall, Mr. Hardbottle trained with Uncle Wilfred in the cavalry; he certainly would be the man to control the family.

"No, he will only be dropping in. Then he must return to town to do business," Papa added tiredly.

After that, I truly felt bad. Papa has had so much to manage in these past few weeks. Besides the whole family's business matters, he's dealing with the manor, financing Margaret's Season (and, I suppose the possibility of her finding a husband), and those ghosts. And here I am complaining to him.

"I'm sorry Papa," I said. "Why don't you go up to your room with a cup of tea and go to bed? It is late," I pleaded. "I'm sure that I can oversee the Hardbottles and the servants tonight."

"Thank you my dear - you truly are growing up," Papa said, leaning down to give me a kiss. Then he turned and went upstairs. I smiled at him as he went up the stairs, then sighed and squared my shoulders. I thought that surely if Papa could deal with all of his work, David could handle being suddenly shipped off, and you could handle Grandmama, I could certainly deal with the Hardbottles.

"Right. Oscar, please gather together the rest of the footmen and place the Hardbottle's luggage in the southeast wing. Polly, please send some maids up to air the sheets and have some firewood sent up. Mrs. Hardbottle, would you like some tea before retiring? (a nod and a request for chocolate biscuits). Polly, please have Cook send up a tea tray with some cookies to Mrs. Hardbottle's room," I said.

"We'd like some (here, I glared)…tea too…" whined Oliver.

"Thank you Polly, Oscar. Mrs. Hardbottle, let me show you and your sons to your rooms," I added.

And that's what I spent the first night doing – I showed Mrs. Hardbottle to her rooms, made sure she was settled, and glared the Hardbottle brothers into silence whenever either opened their mouth. I'm actually surprised that my glares were so effective. Do you think that they were Powerful glares? I must remember to ask Mr. Chalmers, for if it is so, then Addie, we must be careful how we look at people – we don't want to accidentally hurt someone (well. perhaps I would like to purposely hurt Oliver and Wendell, but that is an entirely different story).

The next morning, I slept much later than I intended to. Mrs. Hardbottle was so distraught last night that it took me hours to soothe her, and Aunt Beatrice, declaring that her (very mild) summer cold was too taxing, refused to get out of bed in the middle of the night. After I woke, I went and talked with Cook to plan the meals for the day. He was rather unhappy, since Oliver and Wendell are picky eaters and Papa insisted that the guests be given whatever their hearts' desire. However, Cook's feelings were nothing compared to mine when I walked into the garden after having my breakfast. For the moment I walked out, I heard…

"Yeah, there's one ghost who walks every full moon – that's when he was killed – you can see the bloody wounds," Oliver said. I saw the shocked looks on Josephine, Cassie, and the twin's faces, as they listened to him. In fact, the twins looked scared to death. Then, Wendell reached over and took a huge handful of Josephine's cookies (which you know she works so hard to make) and ate them, disdainfully as Tessa and Timmy watched, appalled.

"They're not bad, but hardly good," smirked Wendell. Josephine's eyes filled with tears. How dare he!?

"Don't you think that you're a little old to be playing tea party?" I asked sarcastically.

"No, these _children_ need some supervision," sneered Oliver. At that point, I had had enough. Who was he to say who was a child!? Then, I remembered a tea party from long ago and I had a moment of inspiration.

"As you like, although, won't the cookies disagree with you?" I asked innocently.

Wendell was about to reply, when he happened to glance at his handful of cookies, only to see that he was holding a handful of spiders! He flung those cookies down and (with Oliver) ran so quickly, you'd think a rabid dog was after them! No, I didn't manage to change the cookies into spiders – you know that that is far too advanced usage of the Power for me. However, when I'm mad, a good illusion is entirely possible.

I'm also afraid that that was the beginning of the war that has been going on between me and the Hardbottles for this whole week. Sadly, the next victory was theirs.

It began later that day when I was out in the herb garden after I had recalled your Grandmama's request for Muscle-Ache Cream. When I spoke to Mr. Chalmers about it, he thought having me making up a batch would be an excellent review of my lessons on combining Power and potions, as well as my ability to research for the receipt. So, he gave me the task of whipping up a batch, hence my trip to the garden to begin gathering the necessary ingredients. While outside, I heard a yip and laughter. Looking around the corner I saw Oliver and Wendell tossing mud clods at old Betsey.

"What are you doing!? Leave Betsey alone!" I demanded

"Not only do you stick up for snotty-nosed kids, but you stick up for old mutts too?" Oliver laughed.

"I said leave her alone!" and I walked over and shoved him.

"Hey, that's not proper behavior for a _lady_," Wendell said. Then he threw a mud clod at me!

"And that's not proper behavior for a gentleman!" I yelled.

"Fortunately, we're not dealing with a lady," Oliver returned. Then the two fiends started pelting me and Betsey with mud! But when I heard Betsey yelp again and saw a trickle of red run down her side, I snapped. And I'm afraid that I (unlike you) did not hold back.

"_Cendaray_!" I screamed. Both Oliver and Wendell's pants burst into flame. Then, two things happened for which I was rather sorry for. First, Aunt Beatrice just walked out to get some air. Secondly, the boys managed to put out the fire.

"Gwendolyn! Explain yourself this moment young lady," commanded Aunt Beatrice.

"Aunt Beatrice, Oliver and Wendell were…"

"What in the world were you thinking?! Those boys could have been hurt!"

"But…"

"And your dress is covered in filth! Were you rolling in the mud like a pig?! I thought we had taught you to behavior in somewhat of a better manner! These actions are certainly not appropriate for a young lady, especially not toward her guests. I believe that spending the next few days mending all of our spare sheets, will cool your temper. Along with that, extra practice with your posture and walking should help you to act more like a young lady."

"Yes Aunt Beatrice."

"And of course, you must make amends towards our guests."

"But Aunt Beatrice!"

"I suggest that you make them chocolate-raspberry drop cookies for tomorrow," she said as she turned away to leave. I gasped.

"BUT Aunt Beatrice!"

She waved away my protest. Addie, I must admit although you know I hate hemming and etiquette lessons, there was nothing Aunt Beatrice could do to hurt my pride than to tell me to make my famous cookies for those monsters! You know that they take me hours to make and that they are so good that everyone wants the receipt, but I only make them so well. To have me feed them my cookies! It was an outrage!

"Oh, and Gwendolyn," Aunt Beatrice said, turning, "What are you doing with that basket?"

"Gathering herbs to make a Muscle-Ache Cream for Addie's Grandmama," I sullenly replied.

"Good. You shall finish that task before you send her your next letter (as if I wouldn't!) and make me a batch as well. Now, I'd suggest you clean up and start hemming. Your posture lesson with be at four," she finished.

Addie, I was seriously tempted at that moment to add poison ivy to Aunt Beatrice's batch of Muscle-Ache Cream, but I managed to (eventually) banish the thought from my mind. Then, I went inside to clean up and start hemming. The rest of that day was awful – stuck inside hemming sheets on a nice day, then stuck sitting and walking with a book on my head until I felt as if _I_ needed Muscle-Ache Cream.

The next day, I rolled out of bed expecting to be as bad as the day before. As I got of bed, I had to groan – those evil boys eating my famous cookies! Truly, it felt as if it were an unendurable shame.

As I walked toward the kitchen to grab a quick bite of breakfast and to borrow a bit of space from Cook to prepare my cookies, who else did I run into, but the Hardbottle boys leaving the kitchen?

"And don't forget, we want you best hot chocolate for our tea this afternoon," Wendell shouted back at Cook.

"Good morning _lady_ Gwen," Oliver said.

"We are _so_ looking forward to you cookies with our tea this afternoon," smirked Wendell.

Before I could tell them that my name was Gwendolyn, and that they would address me as such the two raced away, laughing and eating one of Cook's best pastries. Sighing in resignation, I walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning Cook," I said.

"Morning miss," he answered rather curtly. Seeing the hurt look on my face, he quickly turned back toward me and added "No offense miss. Those two boys have been as welcome in my kitchen as fleas are to a dog. I'm afraid that I was just taking it out on you."

"Don't worry Cook, I understand. In fact, I completely agree with you. They're the reason why I'm here."

"What do you mean, miss?"

"Those two boys were torturing everyone weaker than they are, including Josephine and Betsey, but when I argued against them, Aunt Beatrice punished me by having me make my chocolate-raspberry drop cookies for them. I expect that the cookies will be done in time for their tea," I added dully.

"Is that so?" asked Cook, with a gleam in his eye. "Miss, I do believe that I have the receipt you need right here," he said, taking down a book from his shelf and turning to a page.

"But, Cook, you know that I have the receipt memorized," I said, starting to protest. Then I caught the nod he gave me. "Oh, right, a receipt," I agreed. Then I turned to look at the page he offered me.

Addie, it was wonderful! I've always known that Cook had a bit of Power about him, but mostly that he used it for creating his culinary masterpieces. The receipt he showed me was from the book Trick or Treat – Jocular Jinks and Delightful Desserts. It was brilliant! I'm afraid that I can't explain it very well – I'd best copy it out of the book, so you fully understand.

Doggone Days – In this receipt we explore a trick used to fool the most suspicious of friends (or foes!). Below, you will see that there is a list of two different mixes. Both powders should be mixed up, but they should be added to two different dishes. Only when your unsuspecting friend consumes a portion of both dishes, will he (or she) begin to act like a dog! The beauty of this receipt is that it leaves you (and any other person you choose to let in on the joke) free to eat as much of one dish as you please!

Note: The effects of this receipt wear off after approximately eight hours.

What a perfect and sweet revenge! Talk about turning the tables – those two awful boys would finally know how Betsey felt!

Then, I began mixing up the ingredients for my cookies with much more vigor and energy. I had to work a little faster than normal, to make sure that I had enough time to add the Powder to the batter, but the cookies were in the oven with enough time to bake and be ready for tea. Just before tea time (for, truly, those things did take me all day to make) I saw Cook pull the cookies out of oven and place them on the tray with the hot chocolate. Then, I saw him add a handful of "nutmeg" to the pitcher. As I followed him out, I worked hard to control my features. I did my best to school them in a sulky expression, instead of bursting into the wide grin I felt welling up inside of me.

Cook and I walked into the parlor. Besides the boys, Aunt Beatrice, Aunt Lily, Cassie, Josephine, and the twins were all waiting there (Mrs. Hardbottle was still _too_ tired to come down and mostly took her meals in her rooms). I'm sure Aunt Beatrice came to our tea just to make sure that I was properly repentant and to make sure that nothing happened.

"Well, Gwen, I see that we do have the pleasure of eating your delectable cookies," Oliver said.

"We can't wait," Wendell added.

"I'll bet you can't," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that, Gwen?" asked Aunt Beatrice.

"I hope you'll enjoy the chocolate and cookies," I said, through my teeth, to Oliver and Wendell.

"We're sure we will," said Oliver, reaching over to pour himself a cup of chocolate. (Thank heavens that the boys ordered the finest chocolate – that meant that it was totally reasonable for Cook only to bring enough out to serve two people.) At the same time, Wendell reached for a cookie!

Then, to make sure Aunt Beatrice didn't suspect anything, I quickly sat down and poured myself a cup of tea. I kept sipping at it rather quickly, trying to use it to cover the grin that was playing around the corners of my mouth.

As tea started to wind down, Oliver popped a cookie into his mouth and Wendell took another drink of chocolate – then it happened!

"Woof!" barked Oliver.

"Ruff!" barked Wendell, as the two boys began to scamper around on all fours!

"Oliver! Wendell! What is the meaning of this!? Why are you acting like…Gwendolyn, what is happening!?" exclaimed Aunt Beatrice.

"I-I don't know Aunt. What could have overcome them?" I responded.

"What do you mean that you don't know!? – it was only after they ate your cookies that they began acting like animals instead of gentlemen!" she shouted.

"They were always more like animals than gentlemen," I muttered.

"What!?"

"Aunt Beatrice, I have no idea what happened to them. Honestly! Here, I'll eat a cookie myself," I said reaching toward the plate.

"No, I think that if this is a Potion, then you will have given yourself an Antidote toward it. Perhaps Tessa should eat one?" she asked.

I must admit Addie, that was truly mean – trying to use my love of Tessa to incriminate me. Fortunately, as long as she didn't drink the hot chocolate (which she couldn't, as the greedy gluttons had finished it off) she would be fine.

"Yes, Aunt Beatrice," I conceded. Tessa ate the cookie with Aunt Beatrice watching like a hawk. She waited and waited. We all sat around, shoving Oliver or Wendell away when they (drooling) got too close, only to find that nothing happened to Tessa or anyone else (for the others, hearing her say how good my cookies were joined in on the feast). We all sat there and waited until it was time to change for dinner.

"Well. I suppose that it could have been one of Cook's apprentice's spells gone awry," Aunt Beatrice bitterly conceded as she dismissed me for dinner. Victory for that battle was mine! I went to bed with a much lightened heart that night.

The next day, both Oliver and Wendell were both much more subdued – I believe that they were badly confused. Instinctively, they wanted to blame me for yesterday's occurrences, but listening to everyone's accounts of the matter, found that they couldn't. They did, however, find themselves forced to have etiquette lessons with their family's manservant for the rest of the week, since their mother was appalled by what she heard about their behaviour.

Since it was pouring that morning, I thought that it would be a good day to look up the receipt for and prepare the Muscle-Ache Cream. I went to Mr. Chalmers' workroom, expecting all to be quiet, but as I approached the door, I heard a murmur of voices.

"It is true, I'm afraid," I heard Papa say through the keyhole.

"I just don't understand it – so many disturbances by these 'ghosts', and so elusive. There must be a logical explanation," argued Mr. Chalmers.

"I know, I know. I mean, how many ghosts can there be, in this time and place? Nonetheless, all of the villagers to the North are distressed, so…"

"You want me to spend a few days among them and see if I can spot the source of trouble," finished Mr. Chalmers. "I'll go."

"Thank you," said Papa as I heard his footsteps approach the door. I sprang away and ducked behind a nearby tapestry as he walked. After waiting a few minutes, which felt like an eternity, I went back to the workshop.

"Good morning Mr. Chalmers," I said casually, trying to make sure he didn't know I had overheard.

"Good morning Gwen," he said, as he was busily packing things into a satchel. "As you can see, I have a bit of an…errand to run. I'll be gone for a few days, but I do want you to continue working on that batch of Cream, ok?"

"Yes. What's the errand for?"

He hesitated.

"It's the ghosts, Gwen. There's been some trouble up North and your father wants me to take a look at it."

I nodded, then waved good-bye as he strode off in the direction of the stables. Next, I turned to my task at hand. I washed off all of the herbs, but before I could continue, I realized I needed to visit the library to find a book of receipts.

To me, it certainly was the perfect day for visiting the library – all dreary and wet outside, all snug and warm inside. Perfect for reading! Now, if you'll recall from one of my previous letters Addie, you'll remember that I said the library was huge. Well, apparently time has made no change to my opinion because when I walked in, once again was I amazed by the sheer number of books the room held. My next question was: where to start?

After a few minutes of futile searching – I couldn't even find the Powerful books section, must less a Potions book, I had an idea. Grabbing a cigar tray sitting on the table, I opened the window and held the cigar tray out. After it filled with rain, I leaned down and plucked a blade of grass and gently set it in the tray. Then, I closed the window (or else Aunt Beatrice would have me doing more hemming), wiped my damp hands.

"O_stred dicess invenio_" I whispered, thinking of the kind of book I would need.

Then, as Mr. Chalmers said, the blade of grass spun around and then pointed to my right. The thing that he didn't say would happen was that the blade of grass started to glow green. It wasn't glowing a lot, but it was glowing, a light pastel green that made me think of spring.

At first, I was rather cautious, since what did a green, glowing blade of grass mean? But, after a few moments where nothing happened, I decided to follow it. I was rather confused at first since it seemed to lead me to a dead end, until I realized that the blade wasn't just pointing to my left, but it meant for me to go up to the second level on my left. I wonder if the spell is normally so unclear, or if it is due to the fact that I am not entirely sure of the subtleties about it?

Skimming the shelves, I finally managed to spot Powerful Herbal Remedies. Just after I took it off the shelf though, I heard _them_ walking around downstairs. The two boys must have been bored with being stuck inside and decided to pop in the library (probably to pester me). I gently placed the cigar tray on the floor and started to back away toward a window reading nook.

Just as I was taking my last step back, they left. It was just in the nick of time too, because I tripped backward and wound up sitting of the floor. It was the oddest thing though Addie, because I could have sworn that I saw a thin line of green – the same glowing spring green that surrounded the blade of grass – hovering about a foot off the floor, just as if were a line trying to trip me. Then, I blinked and it was gone. I'm still trying to decide whether or not it was just a figment of my imagination jarred from the shock of my fall, or if it was really there.

The next three days sped past as I continued with hemming, etiquette, keeping an eye on the Hardbottle brothers, and prepared the Muscle-Ache Cream according to the book (it is a rather time-consuming Potion to make). I gave Aunt Beatrice her batch and she claims that it is working quite well, so beside the bottle I am sending you, I am also enclosing the receipt that I found.

Tonight, as I was preparing to go to bed, I once again heard the sound of more clashing and banging – it seemed the rest of the Hardbottles had arrived at last. Since their visit was planned, instead of a surprise, I had the leisure to look over the banister to inspect them. At first, the only person I saw was Katherine Hardbottle. She is a very pretty girl, about our age, perhaps a year younger. Her hair is a chestnut brown, while her eyes are a light blue. Initially, I was rather wary of meeting her, for several reasons. First, she is a sister of the Hardbottle brothers (I know I shouldn't discriminate, but who knows what living with those two could do? Or how being brought up in the same environment might ruin a girl for life?). Secondly, I had heard Polly talking to Shelly (the under-maid) and I learned that Katherine had been sent away to a Parisian boarding school. I was not at all inclined to deal with a stuck-up snooty nosed girl, especially not on top of the Hardbottle brothers.

Fortunately, all of my worries were unfounded.

"Hello Mama, I've just got in," I heard Katherine say, as Mrs. Hardbottle went down the stairs.

"Thank goodness, you've arrived! I just kept thinking about all of the awful things that could happen to you on the way from London. What with bandits, the heat, and those ghosts!" exclaimed Mrs. Hardbottle. Then, switching train of thought faster than I could blink, "Where are your Papa and brother? Have they sent you on alone? If so, I must have a word with your father!"

"Papa and Eric are outside with the master of the hounds – you know how those two love looking at the hunting dogs," Katherine interrupted.

"And leaving you to deal with the bags and the like! Just like men!"

"But Mama, all the servants helped me…"

"Come now child, time to have your things moved upstairs, and…" looking around, Mrs. Hardbottle spotted me. "Gwendolyn, would you be so kind as to show my daughter around?"

"Certainly Mrs. Hardbottle." So I showed Katherine to her room and helped her situate her trunks and things. After all of the servants left, I finally had my chance to get a good look at her.

"This is a very beautiful house," she ventured.

"Thank you, but it's not ours; it belongs to my Uncle Charles," I said, rather pleased that she was complimenting the house, instead of critiquing it.

Then we both stood there rather stiffly, not knowing what to say. After another moment of unbearable silence, I turned to go.

"Well, I expect you're tired. I'll leave you to rest."

"No, wait!"

I turned.

"Yes?"

"Please don't go – not yet. I need someone to talk to! I mean, you wouldn't understand what it was like traveling on the road, especially with my father. Him, constantly talking about business and the government! And Mama, fussing so! I've seen hens that cluck over their brood less!" At that point, a small giggle escaped me, for I had had a similar thought when I saw the mother-daughter reunion a few moments ago.

"Are your parents always like that?"

"Well, Mama is. I think dealing with Oliver and Wendell has made her such. Yes, I know," she said, catching my look, "those two are awful. Don't worry about Eric though. He's actually a pretty good person, especially for an older brother."

After that, the ice was broken. Kathy (for she insisted that I call her that since "everyone does") told me a little about growing up with the Hardbottle boys, Eric, and her parents, along with spending the past four years in a finishing school. Afterwards, I told her a little about you (I hope you don't mind), Margaret, Mama and Papa, and little bit about the ghosts. I didn't dare tell her about my tricks on Oliver and Wendell because although she seemed nice, the thought that "blood is thicker than water" came to mind. I will have to ensure that she is a true ally and friend before I can do that

By the time we finished talking, it was quite late and I left her to go to sleep. As I walked through the hallway, I glimpsed Mr. Hardbottle and Eric walking in. I'm afraid that I didn't get the best look at them, and it was too late to go down to greet them (and, according to Aunt Beatric, I was to be in bed), so I shall do my best to describe them by what I did see.

Mr. Hardbottle is a dark-haired man with a touch of gray at the temples and a tidy moustache. Unlike Uncle Wilfred, who has gone slightly to fat since leaving the military, Mr. Hardbottle seems to remain very fit. As for Eric, he too has dark, rumpled hair, virtually jet black, much like the shade your Cousin Neli tried and failed to achieve with Deliberate Dye (although I doubt our infusion of cherry bark helped – yet you must admit, it was a very pretty shade of pink). From what else I saw, Eric appears rather tall and fair-skinned. However, then I had to come back into my room for Aunt Beatrice had appeared.

Glancing over your latest letter, I simply must add the thought that I, at least, believe that you have always fit in Sacala and that Sanders truly is a dolt. No, you haven't spent your entire life there, but you have interacted enough with the people and were raised so that you are Sacalan at heart. I'm still curious as to Grandmama's adventures that evening and I hope that you find out what was going on (as long as she doesn't find out what happened to you). That reminds me, I did manage to look up the spell that you requested – _rescarcio – _it should do the trick (although, I didn't ask Mr. Chalmers, so I'm not positive).

Otherwise, have no fear of my lack of allies, for Kathy does seem to be a good sort. That brings me to one more final point – Mrs. Hardbottle is having a garden fête, but, since she can't have it at her home, she having it here! That means for the next few days, I'll be helping with the preparations. The fête has a two-fold purpose. First, to introduce us to the people in the area (for although many knew Grandpapa, not as many know us) and secondly, to help Mrs. Hardbottle settle her nerves (plus, as you said, her parties are famous and everyone wants her to hold one).

That truly is all for now; please do visit David and tell me how he is getting along.

Love,

Gwen

P.S. Don't worry – Betsey is fine – it was only a scratch and Sean took care of her.

P.P.S. I am also enclosing a beautiful ring. I remember that you admired it so when we were is Sacala last, and, it just so happens that a traveling merchant was selling one (from Romania) just like it. Perhaps it is the same one!


End file.
